The Hundred Item List
by Leishe
Summary: There are one hundred traits Misao wants in a man, but Aoshi is away, and she's beginning to have doubts. Now that Soujiro's here, her world's beginning to spin once more...but neither of them know it yet. Chapter 10: Thunder Dragons
1. An Old Scroll

**The Hundred Item List**

By Leishe

Morning dawned on the Aoiya like a hungry cat closing in on a mouse. As the tendrils of bright orange and yellow crept up its age-old walls, the sleepy people residing therein tossed and turned in their beds, reluctant to give up their small sanctuaries of cool darkness and peace.

Soon, the smell of a delicious cooking breakfast would rouse even the most stubborn of sleepers; these were the people who knew they were awake, but refused to accept that, instead making themselves believe that it was all a dream…

The door flew open, rattling to a stop. An impatient ninja woman stood there, with her hands on her hips, not looking too pleased. Two steps forward, towards the sleeper's bed, and she let out an almighty yell.

"**_MI-SAO! BREAAAKKKFASSSST!_**"

The woman's shrill voice shook the entire building, breaking some glass chimes in the dojo, two rooms away.

Three miles from the Aoiya, a traveller sank to his knees, covering his ears.

It was enough to scare even the toughest Shishio loyalists clear out of their skins from afar, but imagine having to endure Okon's breakfast trumpet up close. Surely…surely one would not survive such a frightening experience.

"Snort…hhuh?"

Unfortunately, Makimachi Misao's skull was a tad bit thicker than those of normal people, and she just moaned, rolling over onto her side.

"Five minutes…"

Okon sniffed, folding her arms indignantly. She took on a derisive, motherly stance.

"Hmph, what a way for the Okashira to behave! Honestly, you can't have Aoshi-sama waiting all day in the dining room, can you?"

At the mention of 'his' name, and 'in the dining room' in the same sentence, Misao sprang up instantly from her futon, all traces of sleepiness gone, along with her worries.

"Aoshi-sama's HERE? Right NOW?" Her eyes went wide, as she clutched Okon.

The woman blinked. "Er…"

"Where? How? What am I going to do!" Misao began to tear at her hair in distress. The older ninja woman stepped back and just looked at her with a knowing smile on her face.

The Aoshi bluff worked every time.

Suddenly, the sleeper straightened. "I know! I'll make him his favourite green tea!" She hopped out of bed, sidestepped the quietly chuckling Okon and zoomed down the hallway, ready to greet the man she loved most.

**.0o0.**

"Take that, old man! And that!"

"Why you insolent boy—give me that!"

"Hah! You'll never defeat me! This rice is MINE!"

Okina was there, along with the other residents of the Aoiya, as they sipped their drinks and nibbled at their breakfasts. The old man was currently sparring forks with a visitor over the last of the rice, when everyone heard the characteristic 'dugdurudug' of footsteps come from the other side of the room.

"Oh no…" someone groaned, "Misao."

"Aoshi-samaaaa!" Misao's high, excited voice echoed out, as she skidded to a stop at the breakfast table. All eaters took one look at her, and resumed wolfing down their meals.

She blinked.

"…Aoshi-sama?"

But, sad to say, her dramatic entrance was in vain, for there was no Aoshi-sama sitting at the table. Instead, it was just Okina, Omasu, the two men, and a stranger sitting there, eating their breakfast, like always.

And Misao was sure the stranger wasn't Aoshi, because his hair didn't stick out weirdly, and his eyes didn't have that hidden, mischievous smirk in them.

Her bright expression soon diminished, fading into an irritated look.

From behind, a smiling Okon appeared, handing the young woman a pair of chopsticks.

"Got you again, Misao," she grinned, pushing the girl's shoulders down gently, putting her into a sitting position.

"Must you do this ALL the time, Okon?" The ninja girl waved her hands around angrily to make a point.

"I wouldn't have to if you would wake up properly, like everybody else." Replied the woman.

Omasu chose this time to speak, in between bites of fish. "A beautiful young woman like you shouldn't be running around like a little boy when greeting someone she likes, you know?"

Misao ignored her, choosing instead to concentrate on the most important meal of the day, as Okina called it. The stranger, however, couldn't help but snicker at the 'beautiful young woman' part.

The ninja girl looked up to glare at him. Who was this strange, chicken-haired man anyway?

"Misao," said Okina, "Don't you recognize our guest?"

"No…" she began, "Hey! Wait a minute!" She raised her chopsticks, pointing them at the face of the man sitting across her.

It was a face that she hadn't seen in a very long time.

"I know you…Sanosuke!"

The said man grinned at her, scooping up a pear and taking a quick bite out of it. "Yup. that's me." He paused to flick her nose. "…Weasel Girl."

Misao made a face at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked, "And where are Himura and the others?"

Sano paused to take another bite. "'M here om bushnush," he said, with his mouth full. Despite herself, Omasu flashed him a look of disgust. Okina noticed it, and chuckled.

"Like I said," the old man commented, "Anyone whose hair sticks up like that can't be any good."

The Zanza paused to thwap the 'old geezer' on the forehead, but was met with his wooden cane.

"My friend Katsu asked me to deliver some paintings of his to a client here in Kyoto." continued Sanosuke, avoiding Okina and tossing the pear's core away. "I thought I'd pass to visit you Oniwabanshu people for a bit."

"Well appreciated, Zanza, well appreciated." Said Okina, rattling his cane. "Just don't try that thwapping business on me again, or you'll get it."

Sano rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, old geezer." Then, he turned to Misao, a squinty look in his eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"Kaoru's asking about you, weasel."

The braided girl looked at him, one brow raised. "I'm fine." The man shook his head. "Not that. She's asking if Shinomori took any notice of you yet. Y'know…"

Misao blinked, reddening all of a sudden. "Well, n-not yet…" the thought of Aoshi asking her out made the butterflies ravaging her stomach even more frenzied.

The chicken-haired one nodded, as if he expected that answer.

"Well then," Sano rose, "I guess I'd better be going." He paused to pick up a square package from the floor, nestled beside a tatami mat. The paintings. Slinging it over his shoulder, the man waved to the rest of them.

Okina nodded, as did Okon and Omasu. "Take care, Sanosuke." the old man said. Misao smirked, "Don't drop any paintings!"

Sanosuke rolled his eyes, "Yeah, like I ever will."

And then, he was gone.

**.0o0.**

Omasu was now putting the dishes away, and Misao was left at the low table, staring at her unfinished breakfast. Okon was washing the dishes. An uncanny quietness swept over the room, as Okina hobbled out, mumbling something about laundry and bento, with the two men following after him, about to do the morning's chores.

The ninja girl heaved a mighty sigh, as she gulped down the rest of her meal.

"You know," she said after some moments, "Sano was right…I guess Aoshi-sama won't ever ask me out."

Omasu paused to look at Misao, smiling gently and putting the set of dishes she held down.

"Don't say that, Misao-chan. After all, there are plenty of men out there, and you ARE going to be eligible for marriage in about a year. I'm sure that even if the man you'd marry might not be Aoshi-sama, he would be just as kind and loving and gentle…and my, pink would be a nice color to wear on the big day, wouldn't it? And I could decorate the Aoiya with nice pink flowers…" the woman trailed off, lost in thoughts of how pretty the ninja girl would look in a wedding kimono.

The weasel girl heaved another sigh, as she gathered up her dishes and set them aside. Silence settled above them once more, and only the clink of the dishes and the chime of the winds were heard.

"Remember that list you made?" asked Okon all of a sudden.

Misao looked up. "What list?"

"Oh yes! The list of traits you wanted in a man!" Omasu snapped out of her delusion.

"You hid it away somewhere, Misao…I remember that list. You wrote it when you were about seven years old!"

"Uh…no?" the young woman replied. "Besides, I'm sure that I want only ONE man, and his name is Aoshi. Therefore, I don't need a list."

Okon rolled her eyes. "There are hundreds of fish in the sea, girl. And though Aoshi might be the one for you, there's no harm in casting out some nets."

Misao blinked, finding the fish and nets analogy all too annoying. She rested her chin on her palm. "Right…" she mumbled.

Omasu clapped her hands together. "That's the sprit!" She rose instantly, and walked out of the dining area, in the direction of the bedrooms.

Okon and Misao listened to the sound of her footsteps fading.

In a moment, the woman returned, carrying with her a small, rolled-up scroll the color of dust.

"What's that?" asked Misao, though she already knew the answer.

The woman smiled, and patted the scroll. "Your list. It was only now that Okon asked about it that I remembered keeping it all these years. I guess I thought it would help you in the future, Misao-chan."

Okon blinked. "You have a terrible memory, Omasu."

"Let me see," said the girl, reaching out to take the scroll. It was old, and a bit smooth to the touch.

"Be careful," warned Omasu, pointedly ignoring her comrade's remark, "It's quite old. After all, ten years is pretty long…"

Misao stood up and untied the string that held it together. The scroll unrolled, and it was then that the girl saw how long her list really was.

The other end rolled onto the floor. It was a little more than five feet in length.

"It's….long."

Her surprised expression conveyed her feelings rightly. "I wrote this? It must have a hundred items!"

Okon nodded. "It is."

Misao began reading.

"Misao's list of things she wants in a husband. One. He must be tall. Two. Dark. Three. Handsome. Four. He must be the leader of the Oniwabanshu. Five. He must know how to make paper balloons. Six…"

Soon, the girl looked up. "Aoshi fits the first twenty items perfectly." With a satisfied smile, she began to roll it back into place.

"I'm not surprised if he fits the last eighty," agreed Omasu folding her arms, "But why don't you consider crossing out a few items?"

Misao thought. Or at least she pretended to think. She tapped her lip several times.

"…maybe."

Then, she straightened up, tucking the list into the cloth sash of her outfit. "I'm going to train now. See you guys later!"

With a wave, a duck and a grin, the girl exited, off to a running jump out of the dining room.

A few leaves rustled, as the lithe Misao lunged into a tree.

Both ninja woman groaned good-naturedly. 'I'm going to train now' was Misao's excuse to either take a long walk by the river, or go off spying on random people in town, which usually got her into trouble.

"Let her be," Okina had once said. "If she gets US into trouble, that's when you chop off her braid."

Omasu considered those wise words for such a frivolous old man.

**.0o0.**

"Ah! I can't reach it! Higher, Mamoru!"

"If I go any higher, I'll break my neck!"

"Just do it!"

"Uurgh!"

The small hand reached out wildly to grab the boxed lunch that hung from the tip of a pole. Two short, childish figures wobbled unsteadily on top of each other, with the girl yelling for the boy to boost her a bit higher.

"Hrm…if only Taro wasn't such a meanie!" grumbled the small girl.

Some older boys had taken the two children's midday meal earlier, and had decided to put it somewhere they couldn't get it back from.

The bottom of the box brushed the tip of the little girl's middle finger lightly, but that was all. Below her, her brother struggled with the weight she was putting on his shoulders.

"Komachi—" he warned.

"'Little more!" she said; determined. If their mother found out that the bullies had done this to them again, they would get into even more trouble. This had been the third time in a week that Komachi and Mamoru had had to go home with empty stomachs.

"I think I can almost reach it!"

She squinted her eyes, extending her already stretched fingers towards their lunch.

"Let me get that for you."

Out of nowhere, a hand plucked the package from the tip of the pole easily, and the little girl was too surprised to say anything, instead tumbling over her brother.

"Ugh!"

Both children fell on top of each other in a cloud of dust. After Komachi got herself off of Mamoru, dusting her dress as she stood, the stranger who had rescued their lunch handed the box to her with an oddly out of place smile.

The little girl accepted it reluctantly, as her brother studied the stranger with curiosity.

"Th-thank you."

He was a little bit shorter than most of the men they had seen passing through town, and had pleasant facial features. Short, brown bangs framed the young man's wide blue eyes, and his mouth was shaped in a way that made it look like it was meant for smiling.

Mamoru cocked his head to one side.

"Have I seen you before, mister?" he asked.

The stranger blinked. "No, I don't think so. I haven't been here in a long time."

The young boy looked a little disappointed. "Oh. I see."

It was then that Komachi noticed the sheath hanging from the man's side. Curiosity piqued, the child tugged at the stranger's blue gi. He looked at her questioningly.

"Are you a swordsman?" she asked, brown eyes wide.

He smiled.

"Sometimes. But right now, I'm just a poor wanderer looking for a warm place to stay. Would you know of any?"

Komachi shrugged. "There's the inn, but kaasan says it's a bit expensive. You could always try that place where the Oniwashu people live."

"It's Oniwabanshu," corrected Mamoru, "And 'tousan says they live in the Aoiya."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Same thing." Then, her eyes suddenly flew to the sky. "Hey! The sun's over there already!" A small, thin hand pointed a finger at the glowing disc of yellow.

Mamoru blinked. A worried look began to grow on his face. "Uh-oh…sensei says he'll spank us if we're late again!"

"Let's go!" urged his sister, jumping up and down impatiently.

"Right," nodded the little boy, turning to the stranger. "Thanks again, mister. By the way, what's your name?"

"MAMORU!" complained Komachi, "Remember the spanking!"

The young man laughed softly, although the feeling was new to him. "You're welcome. And you can call me T—ah…Soujiro. Seta Soujiro."

"Mm!" answered the boy, nodding with a smile. "See you, then, Seta-san!" He began running off with his sister, who was currently in the lead. A trail of dust clouds 'poofed' behind their small feet, as the two children slowly began to disappear into the crowd of people in town.

Soujiro Seta smiled, feeling the cool breeze ruffle his hair gently. As the young man set off with the intention of finding a place to spend the night, the thought of seeking refuge at the Aoiya crossed his mind momentarily.

'I wonder if they'll remember me?' he wondered.

**.0o0.**

As Misao wove her way through the crowd—as she always did, after breakfast—she felt two bodies stumble against her, as she walked along.

The young woman bent down to see a little girl tugging at a little boy's arm. She was holding what Misao assumed was a boxed lunch in her other hand.

"Are you two okay?" she asked, pulling the little boy up. He immediately began dusting his hair off, and bowed to her.

"Thanks," he muttered hurriedly, and began to scurry off past Misao, with his little sister at his heels.

"Hey, wait up Mamoru!" the young girl called, shrill voice piercing the air.

The crowd parted for the two children for a moment, but when Misao blinked, the sea of people had swallowed them once again.

**After reading soumi fics for some time, I've decided to write one! Yay:) Chapter two will be up soon, hopefully. Please review:)**


	2. Marketblade

**The Hundred Item List**

_**marketblade**_

By Leishe

"Eggs! Eggs for sale!"

Tinkle.

Metal twisting in the breeze, and music.

"Fiiishhh! Fresh Fiiiish!"

Cluck, cluck, cluck. Bakaww!

The sound of pattering feet on dry, dusty ground. And a baby crying.

"Hey! Give me back my doll, you big meanie!"

"Ha-ha! Make me!"

"Here little girl, would you like a paper balloon?"

A door slid open, and a female voice called out. "O-kay! The Akabeko # 2 is now open for lunch!"

Click. Click. Snap.

Mumble, mumble, mumble. Four old men huddled over a shogi board.

"Fish! FIIIIIIIIISH!"

Soujiro had been walking through the bustling Kyoto marketplace for a little over ten minutes, now. The sun beat down on his back as he made his way through the crowd of people passing through.

As he observed the myriad of faces flashing by, the young man found that he didn't recognize any of them.

'Maybe because I didn't go to the marketplace that much,' he mused.

_Gurrrgle._

He stopped, all of a sudden, looking down at his stomach in surprise. That empty, unpleasant feeling was beginning to grow again, just as it had done yesterday, the day before, and during the past week.

Soujiro put a hand over his complaining abdomen. He was hungry again. Blinking, the wanderer decided that it was time to have lunch, or, in his case, to find a way to get something to eat before the heat and that empty feeling got the better of him, as it did on some days.

"Mochiiii!"

…and the food vendors weren't helping, either.

The sheath of his sword clinked a bit as he stepped forward, and the sound of metal on metal only reminded Soujiro that he didn't have any money to spend, as he had left all of his belongings minus his sword back at the Juppon Gatana headquarters. Was it a year ago? Two years?

He really didn't remember.

"Apples! Get your juicy Fuji apples riiight here!"

A man was calling out to the people, sitting beside a cart full of red, delicious-looking apples. There they were, about a hundred of them, glistening in the sunshine, begging, eat meee…eat meee…

Soujiro tore his eyes away from the cart, reminding himself that it was wrong to steal. Even if he could. It would be oh-so easy. Besides, it was the cart owner's own fault if he wasn't able to protect his wares from petty thieves.

_The strong live and the weak die,_ Soujiro thought, remembering Shishio-san. But what did Himura say again? You must protect the weak?

"Apples! Who wants apples?"

The young man shook his head, and walked off at a pace a little quicker. Although he was hungry, although he was hot, Soujiro was still smiling. It was a habit that wouldn't die, but the former Tenken wasn't really worried .

_Gurrgle._

'You'll survive another day,' Soujiro told his stomach, 'and stop complaining.'

**.0o0.**

Misao was sitting down at the Shirobeko, as Tae's sister had decided to call it, and was having lunch. Well, maybe having lunch was a bit of an understatement. Rather, the young woman was gobbling lunch.

"Sae! Two more orders of tonkatsu, please!"

"Will I put it on the Aoiya's tab?" a faint, female voice called back.

"Hai! And thanks!"

A table away, two middle-aged men were talking quietly to each other. One of them glanced uneasily at the heartily eating Misao, and nudged his companion lightly.

"What?"

"Look at that girl, Yori. She eats like …like nothing I've seen before! It scares me."

The other man chuckled. "You know what they say, she's a growing kid. It's normal, you idiot."

"Still…" the man named Yori glanced at her warily. "I don't like her."

Misao, of course, was oblivious to all this, and continued downing rice bowl after rice bowl. Smiling contentedly to herself, she patted her stomach after a while, and let out a sigh. Her eyes travelled to the open door of the restaurant. It was a little past eleven, and Aoshi would probably be finishing lunch, wherever he was, right now.

A small smile crept up her lips.

She would see him later, in a few days, when he returned.

**.0o0.**

He decided to go looking for a sword. Kikuichimonji-norimune, his current weapon, the one given by Shishio, was efficient, light and readily mastered. It suited him perfectly, but it was the one sign that he was, indeed, the Tenken, and Soujiro wanted to get rid of whatever was left of the smiling killer.

"Another sword…" he murmured, "But which?"

One that wouldn't kill people, a voice on the inside told him. Useable, but not fatal.

Soujiro's blue eyes widened. He knew the answer. And as ironic as it seemed, the young man had an inkling that his path as a wanderer might be just a bit similar to that of Himura's.

His mouth twitched into a half-smile, but not a real one_. Life really does play tricks on unsuspecting people,_ he thought.

**.0o0.**

"…excuse me, but do you know of any sword shops around here?"

Thirteen shops past, and no one he had asked had given the young man a decent answer. Passerby either ignored him, avoided him or shot him a glare and walked past a bit faster.

Soujiro was a patient one, however, and continued asking around. There was probably at least one person in this part of Kyoto that had a sword for him, and the young man wouldn't stop asking until he found out.

Wooden wheels of all sorts and all sizes hung from the roof of the store that Soujiro peered into. At first, it seemed that the wares were unguarded, but the wanderer knew better, and stepped into the shop, careful not to step on any of the wheels that were laid out on the dirt floor.

There, in a corner, hidden behind a whole basket of small wooden cogs, was the shop owner. He was counting his earnings, Soujiro saw, and shaking his head. Apparently, they were not enough.

"Um," the wanderer said.

At the sound of another voice, the short man behind the basket jolted up in surprise, quickly pocketing the money.

"Y-yes?" he said, looking up at the boy with slightly surprised eyes.

Soujiro smiled reflexively. "Would you know of any sword shop nearby?" he asked. It was the fifty-seventh time that he had repeated that question.

The man shook his head, and pointed to the next stall, a large fruit shack, where two women—a young one, in her thirties, and an old one—were arguing over something.

"Ask them. They know," the dark-haired man said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Soujiro nodded and smiled his thanks, bowing slightly and walking over to the fruits. As he approached it, high, shrill voices pierced the air around him.

"The price of the mangoes is too high! Sayuri gave me half that last week!" said a pitchy, female voice.

"Bah! I've got nothing to do with Sayuri! Now, pay up!" A croaking, demanding old woman replied, frowning and balling her bony fist.

"Give me a thousand yen off, and I will!"

"A thousand!" squawked the old woman incredulously, "preposterous!"

Soujiro smiled. "…ah, pardon me ladies, but—"

"Okay, then, I'm not buying these! Any of these!" The younger woman proceeded to drop the bag of mangoes violently back on the counter.

The vendor waved her hands around in protest.

"Wait! All right! All right! I'll cut five hundred off, and then we have a deal!"

A small smile formed on the young woman's lips, and she picked the bag up again.

"Thank you." There was more than a hint of smugness in her voice, as she slid the proper amount onto the counter.

"Hn." Grumbled the old woman, hastily snatching the money away. "You Aburakojis are so cheap…and I've a feeling your family's going to be the death of me!"

The young woman sniffed. Clearly, she didn't take the insult to heart.

"Excuse me, but do any of you ladies happen to know of a sword shop in town?" Soujiro, smiling as he usually did, felt the need to raise his hand halfway.

The two women looked at him blankly, before he could get any response out of them. Then, the younger woman holding the mangoes spoke, raising one thin eyebrow as she did so.

"Yes. My father owns one."

Soujiro felt himself grow a bit hopeful. "Would you take me there, please?"

She smirked, holding the bag of fruits out in front of him.

"Only if you carry this for me."

**.0o0.**

She was leaning against one of the wooden columns supporting the roof of a sake shop. Currently, a gang of unscrupulous men were bunched up in front, confronting the poor owner.

"Hey mister, you owe us ten bottles free," boomed a tall one, who looked like the leader.

"Yeah," piped up another, "'For bein the handsomest guys in Kyoto."

Hearing this, Misao almost gagged. _Handsomest my butt_, she thought disdainfully. _The only good looking guy in this part of Japan is Aoshi-san._

She really shouldn't have bothered, but, unfortunately, Misao Makimachi was Misao Makimachi, so she walked up to the group of men in a slow, suggestive manner, and flashed her most alluring smile towards the tall one.

Misao winked, and the man was ensnared. Looking at her lecherously, he grinned.

"What's your name, honey?"

She waited until she was close enough to that fat-looking moneybag that hung from his belt. His breath stinks, Misao thought, smiling despite herself.

"My…name?" she asked, in a breathy voice.

"That's right…" he said, moving closer.

Misao closed her fingers around the bag. Luckily, the bunch of dimwits hadn't noticed her, too engrossed with the pretty lady talking to their leader. A smirk crossed her lips, as she detached the bag from its owner easily, sliding it into the folds of her own outfit.

"I don't give my name to uglies like you!" Misao declared, pausing for a moment to stick her tongue out at the man.

Naturally, the leader was enraged, the gang was surprised and the store owner wanted nothing more than to get this unruly group of people out from his storefront.

The ninja girl leaped into the air, playfully brandishing the moneybag she had stolen. This riled the leader even more, and he pointed to her angrily.

"Seize her!"

…and so, the chase began.

**.0o0.**

For as long as he could remember, Aburakoji Shinichi's family had been making, selling and repairing swords. It all started a long, long time ago, when his great-great-great-great-great grandfather had found an old, rusted wakizashi by the side of the river. That was during the Heian period, when things were significantly prettier. Anyway, the first Aburakoji, out of total boredom, had decided to scrape the rust off the small weapon and use it for himself, only to find out that the owner of the wakizashi, a wealthy samurai, looking for it in the middle of the night.

Wisely, Aburakoji returned the weapon to the samurai, (but he wondered why the man wanted something so rusty) and the warrior, in his gratitude, paid the merchant's son ten thousand yen for his now shiny dagger.

…and that's how it began.

Shinichi, the only male in his father's family, was eighty-five years old and married to the daughter of a fisherman, and also, father to one boy and five girls. He lived in Kyoto and was used to repairing swords when the need arose. Unfortunately, business wasn't doing very well, ever since the Meiji restoration, that is.

The old man sighed, fanning himself with his youngest daughter's paper fan. It was a hot day today, and the sun hung high in the sky. Grumbling, he wondered where his good-for-nothing eldest son was with their lunch.

"Ojisan! Ojisan! Will you make me a paper crane?" the high voice of his little grandson floated from behind him, and Shinichi turned around.

The old man grinned, showcasing his mouth of worn out teeth. "Only if you promise to take over this wretched sword business, little boy!" he cackled, lifting the child by his armpits.

"Shame on you, father!" came an accusing, female voice. The child's mother. A slender woman loomed in the doorway, her pretty face frowning. A few steps behind her stood a young man whom Shinichi had never seen before.

He put the squalling child down, curious to see who his daughter had dragged into the store this time.

"Eh, Hiroko, who's that you've got there?" he asked, stroking his white beard.

His daughter put her hands on her hips, glaring at her father.

"I've got a customer." Every word was laced with venom, said with halting anger. To Hiroko's dismay, however, the old man ignored her, instead getting off his chair and hobbling towards the young man she had found at the marketplace.

Shinichi inspected him thoroughly, squinting his already small eyes at the boy.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

The young man bowed. "Seta Soujiro, sir." He replied.

Hiroko was incredulous at his politeness, and was at Soujiro's side in a flash.

"Oh…don't bother with the bowing, Seta-san, my father is not worthy of such honor." She slanted her eyes at the slightly annoyed old man, who waved her away dismissively.

"Never mind her," he said, "What do you want? You do know I only sell swords, right?"

Soujiro nodded. "Yes."

Shinichi put his hands on his hips, "Well, what kind of sword are you looking for?" the old man paused to observe the young man's gi,

"…and, uhh…how much money do you have?" he added, with a twinkle in his eye.

The young man smiled sheepishly. "Er…you see, I was planning on trading in my sword for another one, if that's all right."

The current Aburakoji patriarch blinked twice. "What? Trade?"

Soujiro made frantic gestures with his hands. "Ah, yes, if that's all right with you."

The old man glared at him menacingly. "And how," he began, "did you assume that I, Shinichi Aburakoji, trade swords with random, grimy, dust faced little—"

"Father!"

Shinichi paused to eye Hiroko sharply. She glared back at him with equal fervour.

"I think," she said, "That you should consider the fact that Seta-san here is the ONLY customer we've had in one whole confounded MONTH! It would be wise to cut him a little slack, y'know!"

Aburakoji blinked. "Uh…right." He turned to the young man. "Let's see that sword, boy. From the looks of you, I don't think that it'd be with much, though."

Wordlessly, Soujiro slid the sheath out, and placed it on a table, leaving it there for the swordmaker to inspect. Shinichi strutted to the table in what he thought was a dignified manner.

The old man blinked, after unsheathing the sword.

"Why, this isn't a katana," he said. Hiroko was pleased to observe that there was a hint of amazement in her father's voice.

"It's a—"

"A kikuichimonji-norimune." Said Soujiro, looking at the swordmaker impassively.

Despite himself, Shinichi nodded stiffly. "Yes. Where did you get one of these?"

Not wanting to elaborate on his past, his dead master and how he acquired the weapon, the young man simply smiled and waved his hand, as if dismissing the old man's question.

"It was a gift."

Shinichi grunted, wondering why on earth any sensible person would give something such as a kikuichimonji-norimune to someone like this skinny, strange looking little kid. The old man took the sword up with a flourish and unsheathed it.

He tilted the weapon left and right, so that the light coming in from the windows bounced off the blade, making it flash.

After a few minutes, the question came.

"What do you want for it?"

Soujiro smiled, as he always did. He already had an answer for that.

**.0o0.**

Late afternoon. The sky was dimming, it blue color taking on a hue of orange-gold. Tufts of white clouds scattered the ethereal canvas, as the burning sun sank slowly into the mountains.

The river was running. It always was, but the difference was that today, it was calm.

On the grassy riverbank sat a slender young woman, with her legs folded to her chest, and her back resting against the trunk of an ancient Acacia. Her eyes were closed, and a look of peace was on her face. A dreaming mind thought of Aoshi, the man she loved, and his return.

Misao shifted her position with a soft murmur of contentment, yawning a little bit, and then going still again. She had about an hour of rest left before dinner was going to be served at the Aoiya.

**.0o0.**

Soujiro walked along the dirt path, in the direction of the river. A new sword hung at his side, and oddly, although it was longer and a little heavier, the young man felt that the sakabattou fitted him perfectly.

He smiled, and hummed something to himself.

Life really was ironic.

**.0o0.**

**Thanks for all the reviews:) And to "Oro" 0bject, thank you for the info! that helped a lot. More Sou this time around, and a few extras as well. A sakabattou for the Tenken? Hehe…I wonder…**

'**Till next chapter, and as always, friendly suggestions, corrections and reviews are greatly appreciated:) (to Misao-chan, thank you very much for the wclcome)**


	3. Only for a Moment

**The Hundred Item List**

_**Only for a Moment**_

By Leishe

Omasu paced back and forth, back and forth across the open space at the entrance of the Aoiya. Anyone with eyes and a brain could clearly see the expression of worry on her face, even in the dim light.

Sitting just outside the dining room was the old man, Okina, calmly drinking his tea, and watching the sky as it changed colors, slowly. To him, as well as the others, Omasu's behaviour was very normal. Being one of the people who had raised Misao from childhood, it was natural for the woman to go about worrying when the ninja girl came home late.

Noises came from inside the kitchen, as Okon chased the two men, Kuro and Shiro, away from the meal that was cooking. Her voice was rising, echoing into the stillness as she shouted at the both of them.

"Not until dinnertime, you two!"

"Just a little taste, Okon—"

_Slap._

"Ow!"

"Get out of my kitchen!"

"Yes ma'am!"

Usually, both Okon and Omasu shouldered the job of keeping Shiro, Kuro, and Misao away from the food before it was served, but Misao wasn't home yet, and Omasu was too busy worrying about her.

He took another sip of tea.

Soon, the smell of a delicious meal drifted into the air. Okina sniffed indulgently. The stampede of two men could be heard over the ceremonial call of "dinner!", but the plump ninja woman standing in the front courtyard didn't move a muscle.

The old man took his cane and eventually, got up and went to dinner. Misao would come home soon, he knew. It was just a matter of waiting a few minutes, or maybe even a few hours, but Okina knew that the young woman would return.

Because dinnertime or not, she always came back.

**.0o0.**

She was having a dream. It was a nice dream, which, maybe, was the reason why she overslept. The dream was about Aoshi and her. _He was leaving for somewhere; maybe Hokkaido, and had said goodbye already, to all of them._

_She could see the fading outline of his back as he left; mysterious, quiet and amazing._

Misao turned over in her sleep.

_It would be a while before he came back, she knew, but she was willing to wait, maybe._

_She dreamt of waiting a long time. Possibly ten years, but after, she still looked the same. Same ninja weasel girl, same smile, same old Misao. And then Aoshi-sama came back, and she smiled happily, rushing to hug him as he arrived._

_In her dream, he hugged her back, smiling also, happy to see her._

_And then, he introduced her to the woman standing beside him. She was a lady, blushing, beautiful._

"_Misao, this is…"_

Her eyes flew open, ending the dream before it turned into something terrible. Perhaps she would be swallowed alive by the ground? Or maybe the sadness inside her would be the one to swallow her instead?

Anyway the dream was finished, and she was awake. The ninja girl gazed at the river, relieved that dreams didn't really happen, and realized it was already dark. She felt the lump in her side. The list.

"Uh-oh…dinner! The Aoiya—" Misao stopped short. She blinked. Twice.

Something was wrong here. She couldn't move.

Looking up, the girl found herself suspended from the higher branches of the same tree that she had been sleeping under, with both her hands and her feet bound tightly with the thickest, hardest rope that Misao had ever felt.

Someone had tied her up.

"What the—" she sputtered, a look of anger clouding her face. The ninja girl griped for the kunai that were hidden in her waist sash, but both of her hands where wholly covered by the rope, making it impossible to move.

Misao muttered curses darkly under her breath.

"Dammit…who the hell did this?"

Her mind was racing, sprouting a million questions that didn't help her. Why was she tied up? How? Who? And more importantly, how was she going to get out of this mess?

"Urrgh!"

Misao tried thrashing, squirming and struggling, but it was evident that this was of no use. She stopped then, to conserve her energy.

_Crunch._

And also, because she heard someone step out of hiding, and onto the grass. She squinted her eyes; it was becoming hard to see in the growing darkness.

The silhouette was a tall one, probably a man, and he looked like he was holding a long stick. She wasn't very sure, but the young woman thought that she saw a flash of teeth smile.

Soon, more silhouettes came into view. They were odd shaped; tall, short, thin, round, and even grotesquely crooked. Grunts, coughs and low voices came from the gathered, and a short chuckle, occasionally.

Judging from the noises around her, Misao assumed that there was more than one person standing just a bit shy of one meter from her and the tree.

She kept very quiet, wondering if they knew she was there.

Whispers, then. A faint, weak breeze shuddered by, stirring the leaves ever so lightly. Out of nowhere, a familiar, oily voice cut through the noises, and all but the voice fell silent.

"Looks like the girl's awake, boys." Another flash of teeth.

Misao's eyes widened, and with a sinking feeling, realized that the one talking was the leader of that unsightly gang that she had stolen from earlier that afternoon. Inside the ropes, she attempted to ball her hand into a fist.

It didn't work. The ropes were too tight, too thick.

"What d'you think we should do, boss?" came a thin, spiny voice, coming in the direction of a small, pudgy shape.

Misao saw the leader shrug, grinning. "Whatever you want do. Just make sure that little wench pays for what she did to us."

Laughter, now. High, cackling, annoying laughter. The girl clenched her teeth, glaring at them hard. How she wished she were free. Then she'd beat them up…she'd pierce their filthy bodies with her small, sharp kunai.

And they would scream, loud enough for the whole of Kyoto to hear. And no one would dare tie her up hard and dangle her from a tree ever again. Never.

The silhouette tossed something up. Something fat, bulgy and tied at the top with a dirty piece of meat string.

Misao gritted her teeth.

The moneybag.

The leader grinned at his prisoner mockingly. That poor excuse for a thief. How on earth did she even assume that she could rob him, the handsomest, smartest man in all of Kyoto, and possibly, Japan? He wiggled the money in front of her, a menacing, you-will-pay smile on his lips.

"Learn your lesson, little thief!"

Misao narrowed her eyes, bracing herself. Already, she could see some of them ready their clubs, their wooden sticks, and their short, sharp daggers.

"Get away from me, you losers!" she spat, fire burning in her eyes.

The men cackled, brandishing their weapons, with the daggers glinting in what little light was left.

"My, my," said the oily voice, "What a wild one you are." His tone was mocking, and the young woman knew that he looked down on her the way a king looked down on a dying peasant.

Misao watched as he signalled to his men, with one long arm slicing the air in a swift, sharp motion.

Her eyes widened, as she struggled against her bonds once more, wiggling like a fish. It delighted her captors even more, seeing the one who had dared to insult them squirm like a helpless baby mouse in the face of real danger.

"Look 'ow helpless she is!" snickered one, raising his wooden sword.

Helpless, indeed. It was a terrible feeling, one that ground itself into the pit of her stomach, as Misao waited, in sick, quiet anticipation.

**.0o0.**

His steps were light, almost silent, as Soujro made his way up one of the dirt roads that led to the river. The young man was unaccustomed to the weight the new sakabattou hanging at his side, but he knew it would pass soon enough.

_Now, about a place to stay…_

The little girl that he had met earlier, Komachi, had said that he could stay in the inn, but it was expensive.

_I don't have any money._

Soujiro thought of staying at the Aoiya, but immediately waved that thought away. From his experience, most people held grudges, and no matter how kind hearted some claimed the Oniwabanshu were, the young man was sure that they wouldn't let him stay.

Because he had been Tenken no Soujiro, the killer. The murderer. And what kind of sensible people let a killer live under their roof, even if it were only for one night?

He shook his head, inwardly laughing at himself for even considering staying with them.

Soujiro opened his eyes, looking up, scanning the sky. It was a deep blue now, and small stars were beginning to come out of hiding, twinkling shyly, as if for the first time, down on the rest of the world, while the mother moon smiled nearby.

A soft wind blew, and the young man reached to push his bangs away from his eyes.

"Maybe I'll sleep under a tree tonight," he murmured. After all, it wasn't the first time he would be doing it.

**.0o0.**

The noise from the clearing beside the river was something that he didn't expect. It was nighttime, and most people would be eating dinner right now.

_Grrrowl._

Of course, Soujiro wasn't included in 'most people'.

The young man stepped closer, all senses on alert. No one could see him, or hear him. It was a bit darker, where the noise came from, and he could clearly hear the sound of running water from where he was.

Without a sound, the boy leaped into a tree, coming closer, closer, to see what the commotion was all about.

**.0o0.**

Black. Pitch black, and nothing more. The first blows, she had been able to endure. They hurt like hell, and Misao was sure that, if she survived, there would be ugly bruises covering her legs, arms and face in the morning.

They were liveable, those first ones, but they hurt the most. She had closed her eyes when they started banging on her with the wooden swords, clubbing her like some flimsy, toy during a birthday party.

The pain came in small explosions as they hit, harder and harder with every minute passing.

"Heheeey! First one to knock 'er out gets half of this moneybag!" The leader announced it with cheer, like Misao was some worthless object to be beaten up just for the fun of it.

The ninja girl winced as a club came flying at her arm.

_Crrak._

When all the other blows came, she was gone. Too many men had hit her square on the forehead, in high hopes of winning themselves some money. Like a rag doll, she was tied to a tree as they hit her, bruised her, beat her up.

They wouldn't kill her; they weren't murderers. Just people avenging themselves. After all…she was just…_a girl._

But she felt nothing now, just the sticky, warm liquid running down the side of her cheek, and her arm.

Blurry figures…darkening…her head spun for a moment, and then…nothing.

**.0o0.**

They didn't see him. Of course. He was the Tenken. Was. Soujiro saw them, though. All of them. Like animals, the men were jeering, screaming, howling in mirth and laughter. Wooden swords jutted out of their hands, and they were beating someone tied to a tree.

He narrowed his eyes, moving closer, gripping the tree branch.

As everything became clearer, Soujiro's eyes widened, and a feeling of blatant disgust welled up inside of him.

They were beating up a girl.

For a moment, Shishio's voice came back to him, telling him that it was useless, that the weak were just that…weak, and trying to do anything otherwise was plain stupidity. But Soujiro stayed in the tree only for a fraction of a second more, and thought…

What if that person was Yumi? Would he hold back? Would he?

Before he could change his mind, the young man was out of the tree, and was inside the group of men even before they knew he was there.

Godlike-speed mode it was.

When Soujiro drew his sword and sliced through the first man he saw, the body did not split into half, as it usually did, but crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The former Tenken sensed that there was something wrong here…that he should be doing something else.

"Hey! Where'd Shu go? He was here a minute ago—Urgh!"

The speaker fell to the ground as well, before being able to complete his sentence. There would be a nasty gash of a bruise on his side tomorrow.

In a matter of seconds, Soujiro'd managed to wipe out half of the group, creating even more commotion among the brutes.

"What's going on here?" "What happened!" "Who the hell is that kid!"

Then, they saw him and tried to attack, flinging their daggers, swords and clubs at him, flailing their arms to get ahold of the scrappy kid who was taking their men down faster than their leader could finish a bottle of sake.

He was simply too fast for them.

One dagger whistled dangerously past his shoulder, missing the boy by centimetres. Soujiro leapt up into the Acacia, drawing his sword.

Using the other side of the reversed-edge blade, he cut the ropes surrounding the captive in one swift motion, and as she fell, he caught her before her body hit the ground. She was limp in his arms, and said nothing.

They saw what he was doing, but before any of them had the chance to react, Soujiro carried the girl, setting her on his back, sheathing the sword, and disappearing.

The men were livid.

"Where is he? Where is he!"

"Ah! The gir—" one guy pointed frantically at the suspended victim.

"The girl! YOU IDIOTS! WHERE DID SHE GO!" The roaring voice of the leader rang out over the trees, and into the sky. A few leaves rattled, as the cut ropes swung for a moment, and then, fell.

And for a moment, squinting into the distance, one of the men thought he saw a blur, far, far away.

He shook his head. It was probably only his imagination.

**.0o0.**

Thunder shook the skies, as what was a clear, quiet evening turned into a clouded, rainy night. A mass of grey thunderheads gathered over the capital city, and water fell from heaven, in fat, cold drops.

They hit the earth, the metal, and the wood in strong, successive blows. Wind howled, and lightning flashed. People lit lamps, knowing that the rain would last only for a little more than a moment.

**.0o0.**

As he sped through the streets, with the girl on his back, Soujiro could not help but wonder why he rescued her in the first place. When the rain started to fall in wild, strong torrents, the young man switched from carrying her on his back, to carrying her in his arms.

Soujiro did this with ease, but only when he saw what the young woman was wearing did he stiffen slightly. His eyes widened.

Long braid…deep blue outfit…

He had seen her before. His mind raced.

_That girl…the one with Himura…at Shingetsu village…_

'She must be one of the Oniwabanshu…their leader?'

He knew that Shinomori had left them all behind, when he was younger, and then he had joined forces with the Juppon Gatana. Soujiro did not know much of the mysterious Aoshi's past, but he knew enough to know where this girl belonged.

He looked down, in spite of himself, at her face. It was blank, and her eyes were closed. A thin trail of blood ran across her cheek, and several bruises covered her limbs. The young man felt how cold she was, and went faster, if possible.

Shishio-san had spoken of her before…Misao Makimachi, the young okashira.

The rain pelting his back, Soujiro held her a little bit closer to him as he made his way towards the Aoiya.

**.0o0.**

It was dark out, and raining, too. As expected, Omasu was worried out of her wits throughout dinner, and even Okon confessed to feeling a bit anxious when there was no sign of Misao after everyone had finished their evening meal.

Kuro and Shiro had gone out hours ago, in search of her. They had checked everywhere—the Shirobeko, the marketplace, the temple…but the ninja girl was nowhere to be found.

"What if something bad happened to her?" Omasu wondered aloud, pacing again. "She could have been kidnapped…or murdered…or worse!" The woman began shaking so badly that Okon had to calm her down; to reassure her.

Okina didn't say much during the search effort. He hoped that the others wouldn't take his silence as him being unconcerned about their youngest member—and they didn't.

The old man was quiet, because he knew, as well as the rest of them, that if Misao wasn't coming home, it meant that either she had failed them, or they had failed her.

And the Oniwabanshu knew that neither they nor Misao would let that happen.

**.0o0.**

It was late. The Aoiya restaurant was closed for business, and it was either midnight, or very early morning. They had all lost track.

Okina had volunteered to keep watch out for the girl. Of course, convincing Omasu, Okon, Shiro and Kuro to go to sleep in favour of letting the old man wait for Misao had been difficult, but the old master had been firm, clear and persuasive.

But it was the only way that he would get any peace here.

Okina sat there, on the wide porch area, watching the clouds and listening to the steady thundering of the grey rain. His eyes were focused on something—something small and fast, in the distance.

_She's coming_, he thought.

The rain fell harder.

And then, she did come.

After a few moments, the old man's posture went straight, alert, when he saw a figure appear in the courtyard.

He waited, as the person drew nearer. Okina expected the figure to be Misao, but instead, it was a young man, drenched from the rain. And he was carrying someone in his arms.

Water ran down his clothes, his body, and it dripped from the sleeves of his gi.

The old man started, feeling an odd rush of hostility. His face seemed painfully familiar. It then occurred to him that his steel tonfa had been left inside his room.

He rose to his feet, clutching his cane, when Okina saw that the newcomer had Misao in his arms. She appeared to be badly beaten up, and unconscious. The old man swept his gaze over her bruised and cut body , and then he met the blue eyes of the stranger who had brought her home.

They reminded him of the sea, the sky, and ice. But he could see, from there, that the young man hadn't hurt Misao.

The boy set her down slowly, expressionlessly, on the platform. Okina watched him as he did so. When the young man stood back up again, he bowed to the man, and started walking back the way he came.

"Stop." The words were out of his mouth before he knew it, and those eyes looked up at the old man in surprise. The boy smiled, and shook his head.

The smile never reached his eyes. Okina knew instantly.

"Tenken." He murmured.

Soujiro shook his head again. "No," he said, "Just Soujiro."

There was a short pause.

"You rescued her." It was not a question.

The young man nodded. Okina was staring straight at him, and there was something about the old man's riveting gaze that unnerved Soujiro. The former master of the Oniwabanshu took a step forward, towards the wanderer. He said only one word.

"Stay."

Soujiro was about to refuse, about to say that he could find somewhere else to go…somewhere that wasn't the Aoiya. But as the commanding stare of Okina bore into him, the former Tenken found himself unable to disobey.

Slowly, he felt himself nod, and as the lightning flashed around them, the old man gestured to the motionless Misao with his cane.

"Take her in, too. My back can't bear the weight." There was something awfully light with the old man's voice, as if he was at ease.

He nodded again, wordlessly, and picked the girl up. Carrying her, Soujiro followed Okina into the Aoiya. Soon, their footsteps faded into the quiet bluish darkness that was the rest of the night.

And as they said, the storm lasted only for a moment.

**.0o0.**

She was in her bed now. The women had woken up, and were tending to her wounds. They had been curious about him too, but all they had offered were questioning glances, hushed whispers, and nothing more.

The boy was quiet, sitting in one of the guestrooms, staring blankly at the walls. One of the men had given him a dry set of clothes without saying anything, but he hadn't put them on yet, instead leaving the pile on top of the futon.

Soujiro leaned his back against the wall, feeling the cold rainwater dribble down his face and his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in.

There was light here, this warm, dry place with people who no doubt would take him in. For once, Soujiro felt that he was being pulled away from wandering, from seeking wisdom, and from trying to sort out the mess that was his real identity.

Okon and Kuro passed by his room, talking quietly as they went. He heard them.

"She's been hurt bad. Maybe a few days of rest—"

"—three or four, I suppose. Why do you think—"

"—can't say I know…maybe the boy knows…"

A pause.

"You think he did thi—"

"No. He wouldn't." There was a note of finality in her voice, and for a moment, Soujiro was taken aback.

Outside, Kuro nodded wordlessly. They walked to their separate rooms, after that.

The young man closed his eyes, and suddenly, he felt a warm, pleasant sensation well up inside him. It was unexpected, almost surprising, and truthfully, he didn't really know what to make of it.

The corners of his mouth turned up very slightly, in a serene, quiet smile. A real one.

It was sad though, and if Soujiro had learned to be sad, he would've shown it, but he didn't. Because although the Aoiya would make a good home, even though the people here accepted him as a normal human being when he had just arrived here, out from the rain, Soujiro knew that it wouldn't last long.

Because like all things, this feeling of warmth would last only for a moment.

He would leave tomorrow.

**.0o0.**

**They hung her from a tree! They HUNG her from a TREEEE! Waahahahahaa!**

**(clears throat)**

**My current problem right now is trying to make this story original, but without ripping off the great stuff that's posted in this section…OR the KenKao story. :P Thanks for the reviews…and for the record, I haven't yet read Alone in a Crowd or When Dreams Come True, but I have read Crimson Skies. :) Suggestions? Advice on how to correctly portray Sou in-character is greatly appreciated. :) **

**Thanks a gazillion to Wicked Enough and Misao-chan and Lau…you guys rock:D I appreciate everything…everythinnnggg…Basically, I could blame my info bloopers on the crappy English subtitling we get over here…but I won't. I suppose I didn't research enough. **

**(bows) Once again, thank you! I shall update when I can:)**

**.0o0.**

"…**the intro is almost over…"**


	4. Another Path

**The Hundred Item List**

**_Another Path_**

By Leishe

The rooster strutted around the dirt yard impetuously, raising its head with the utmost arrogance, as it stepped past the fat hens sitting over their eggs, as well as the small chicks scratching at the ground.

Cluck, cluck.

_Bakaaw!_

Ah, chickens. One would wonder if they had personalities, the way they held themselves.

Dawn approached, with the sky beginning to grow lighter, but with the moon and her children still hanging on to the last wisps of night. The air was cool, and the backyard fowl ruffled their feathers for warmth.

Respect was given to the family rooster, which was far more practical than the western alarm clock. The masters and children of the house counted on it to signal the breaking of day, when the golden sun rose into the clouds.

_Baak, baak, bak. _

Flutter. Scratch.

It was itching to give the morning's warble, but the sky was not yet _that_ light, and the sun was still buried in its sleep. The rooster looked up at the faint outline of the moon with annoyance, and strutted back to its warm sleeping corner.

One of the chicks had managed to catch a worm.

**.0o0.**

"Get some rest, Misao, you'll be all right." Murmurs of agreement followed, and a warm hand ran down her heated forehead.

A bandage was being wrapped around one of her legs. Someone was scrubbing her body harshly with a wet washcloth, and the young woman groaned, trying to move, but not being able to.

Lying down on her back, on the futon, in the dim darkness, that was what Misao had remembered hearing last, before everyone had left her to get what little rest they could before the day started again.

The room was quiet, with nothing but the gentle humming of the wind, fanning lightly against her face.

"Three or four days. She'll be up and running by then."

Omasu's rough estimation hung in the heavily in the air, and Misao grimaced in her sleep. Three days was too long to remain resting and waiting for her body to heal. Why, she could force it to heal now, if she wanted to.

'Just don't keep me in here…'

The Aoiya was silent, outside. Slowly, carefully, the girl felt her body awaken, against its will, but not against hers. Her eyelids fluttered open, and a moan escaped her parted lips. Her head ached terribly, and, not surprisingly, so did the rest of her body.

Ceiling. Smooth wood. Flat. It was the first thing she saw, upon reaching a slight state of consciousness. Of course, everything was extremely blurry.

'_The…Aoiya.'_ So, it hadn't been a dream. But how did she get here, then?

Misao moved one of her arms and tried to get up, but without much success. Everything hurt. She could see bandages and bruises, but thankfully, no blood. The ninja girl bent her legs. If anything, the spaces behind her knees were the only parts that weren't injured too badly.

"Wa..ter…" Her voice came out raspy and deep, and it felt like someone had poured a whole bushel of salt down her esophagus.

Misao cleared her throat, pausing to yawn. Halfway, she stopped. It hurt to yawn, and even more so to talk.

'I suppose I'll just have to shut up for a few days,' she thought glumly.

Thankfully, her strength had collected a bit over the night, making it possible for the young woman to be able to move herself properly. Painfully, the injured okashira forced herself to sit up, using her hands to support her upper body. Misao turned her head in the direction of the sliding door, wincing as she did so.

"Aiiiya!" she cried out, her voice still rough, "…it hurts…"

There was no doubt that the rest of the Oniwabanshu would kill her once they found out she was up and about so soon.

Misao gritted her teeth.

But she was sooo thirsty….

_Water…_

Having to walk out of her bedroom and into the kitchen was harder than she had first thought it was. Her ribs were probably bruised, and the ninja girl clutched at her throbbing side periodically, while she limped through the deserted hallways.

Dug.

Dugdug.

Dug.

Dug.

Irregular footsteps thudded awkwardly down the wooden floor, and Misao wondered vaguely if she was waking anyone up, then realizing that it didn't really matter. Wincing, the young woman felt a slicing pain in her left leg, but she looked up, determined.

The kitchen was not that far away.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Misao got there soon enough, pouring herself a cup of water in a small porcelain mug. She listened as the clear liquid gurgled into the container. Draining the cup in one go, she felt the water trickle down her throat, and settle into her stomach. It was a nice, satisfying feeling, and Misao felt her headache slowly melt away, along with the drugging sleepiness.

She released a breath in her chest that she didn't know was there.

_Tinkle._

The sound of the windchimes reached her ears, and on instinct, Misao turned her head towards the direction of the dining room. The sliding doors that lead to the outside were still closed, but knowing Okina, they probably weren't locked.

Misao smiled, but then she stopped. It hurt to smile.

Thud, thud, thud.

Hurriedly, she walked—or rather—hobbled towards those closed doors, knowing fully well that no one was awake yet. The sun was not yet up, judging by the coolness of the air. Laboriously, Misao pushed one door open, finding that she needed to put more effort into it than she was used to. Only then did the spirited ninja girl realize how weak she had actually become.

"Curse those stinkin' fools," she muttered darkly under her breath, "In the name of Aoshi-sama and all that is good, I swear they'll pay…"

The sky was still a deep blue, lighter than the midnight sky, but not light enough for the blasting heat of morning. Misao looked up and found the moon. She nodded to it, wordlessly.

Sitting down, the young woman rested her back against the other door, still closed. She released a tired breath, slightly annoyed that most of her strength had left her.

A slight breeze passed by, ruffling her hair as it went. Misao closed her eyes slowly, inhaling the fresh, fragrant scent of dawn.

'I wonder how I got here…' she mused to herself, fingers exploring the rough wooden texture of the platform that the young woman knew all too well.

As far as last night was concerned, she didn't remember a bloody thing, save the part where she found herself suspended from the tree that she had fallen asleep under. And then the sneering, the threats and the long, blunt weapons, the first blows, and the sharp pain that followed.

And the blackness.

Misao opened her eyes, studying the clouds that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The Kyoto she knew and loved was still fast asleep, and the streets were still deserted, the shops still closed. No one was there, save one white cat, rummaging through the garbage that someone had left lying outside a shop.

"Must've been one of the guys who found me…" Misao muttered, imagining Shiro fighting the baddies off, cutting her from the tree and lugging her onto his shoulder, walking back home afterwards.

_If Aoshi'd been the one to rescue her, though_…the young woman imagined a tall man finishing the men off in a few seconds with his ultra-cool matrixy moves, then rescuing her…and as he carried her in his arms, princess-style, of course, travelling through the countryside at top speed, with the wind blowing in her hair, she would open her eyes…and he would look down into them…then she'd part her lips ever so gently…and then…and then…

"Tik-tik-tilaooooook!"

The crow of the rooster interrupted Misao's romantic fantasy, sending her back to pre-morning Kyoto, with a body beaten up so badly that it hurt to talk, sitting outside, watching a cat dig through someone's rubbish.

She slanted her eyes, before heaving a wistful sigh, settling back again into her state of comfortable silence, propping her back against the door.

'_If only…'_

**.0o0.**

Looking carefully at the clothes piled up on top of the futon, one would say that they hadn't been used, not even once. But that person would have been wrong…terribly wrong.

Soujiro had finished dressing up; making sure that his sword was in its proper place. He sniffed the air carefully. He was right, it was still before morning. Quietly, he slid the door to the guestroom open, stepping out into the hallway with almost no sound.

The air was wonderfully cool.

The young man glanced down the array of doors, listened for a moment, and, after hearing nothing, decided that it was safe to leave. With a wisp of a smile on his face, Soujiro padded into the kitchen, one hand on the hilt of the sakabattou. They wouldn't know that he had left just yet…maybe the old man and the rest of them would find out later, when they found the guestroom empty.

'You could stay, you know…' said the voice inside him. 'It would be…nice to have a home again.'

The young man kept walking.

Silence hung over the rest of the Aoiya, with the only light coming in from the doors of the dining room, which were slightly open. He assumed that the old man hadn't been able to close them properly after their rather wet arrival.

Blue eyes flashed, as Soujiro began to walk in the direction of the doors, still with no sound following him. He put one hand on the left panel, sliding it open in one easy, swift motion. Stepping out into the outdoor platform, the young man paused to take in the serene atmosphere before leaving…

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

_Misao._

His eyes widened in panic for only a split second, before Soujiro looked to his right, and spotted the girl from last night sitting there, looking at him with a bewildered expression on her face that bordered on incredulity.

The young man knew what it read. It was the 'What-the-hell-is-a-demented-bloody-killer-person-like-you-doing-in-my-home-at-this-time-of-day!' expression, and had been used only by a few people thus far.

He observed her, not saying anything.

Misao took one look at him. One look, and already, she began to feel her blood boil. His face, his eyes, his mouth…it seemed as if he had popped out of the stories Sanosuke had told her about their fights with the Juppongatana.

"_The Tenken," he had said. "That kid's too fast for his own good, I tell ya. Why, if Kenshin here hadn't knocked some sense into that empty little head of his, we'd all been finished."_

At first she didn't believe the chicken-haired man. What kind of person could possibly be faster than the legendary Battousai? Misao had seen him only once, and that was when she and that kid from Shingetsu village had accidentally knocked down a door to some hut…it seemed like a long time ago.

But here he was, standing in front of her. Tenken no Soujiro.

Her mouth still hurt from the scream.

Instinctively, she tried to stand up, but failed miserably, stumbling back into the platform. Staring up at the young man, the ninja girl mustered her best death glare.

He smiled at her.

"Good morning."

She felt like screaming again.

There was something extremely annoying about this guy's calmness, down to the tone of his voice when he had greeted her pleasantly. As if there was nothing wrong with having Shishio's former right hand man suddenly come out of your home.

Misao didn't return the greeting, looking Soujiro up and down suspiciously.

"You're the Tenken, aren't you?" It was a predictable question.

The young man shook his head. "Seta Soujiro," he said. "Just that."

She was not convinced. "What are you doing here? And why?" her voice was rising.

Soujiro blinked. _Should I tell her that I saved her life, and that the old man told me to stay? Or maybe I should just leave that to him…_

Wisely, the young man chose the latter, opting to leave the Aoiya without having to tell Misao the whole story. It would just delay him further, and after all, wanderers didn't stay in one place. They _wandered_ around, for kami-sama's sake!

She was surprised when he bowed to her politely, still smiling. His unusual ways unnerved her, and frankly, she wasn't really used to people who behaved like this.

"Sorry," Soujiro said when he looked back up at her, "But I think it best that you ask Kashiwazaki-san about that."

Misao stared at him. Ask Okina? What on earth did he have to do with the Tenken? She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, the young man had already hopped down the platform, and was walking out the entrance.

"H-hey—"

Hundreds of questions ran through her mind, but just like last time, none helped her situation at all. She decided to put the annoying voices in her head on hold for the moment.

Struggling with every move she made, Misao scrambled up to a standing position, and miraculously, was able to step down the platform, and follow the young man out. She saw him look back, and broke into a labored, painful run.

_Wait!_, her mind screamed, _I have something else to ask you!_

Before the words escaped her mouth, she saw Soujiro look at her and smile…it was one of his strange, creepy expressions that sent chills down her spine.

_Goodbye_, he seemed to say.

Misao reached the entrance, panting and gulping in large amounts of air.

"Wait!" her scream echoed out into the emptiness.

She looked around for signs of the young man. All she saw were the same deserted streets and closed shops that she had seen a few minutes ago.

_Why?_ Her eyes seemed to say. And as an afterthought, a small whisper in her head asked, _Was he the one who saved me?_

Exhausted from the effort, the young woman hung back, sitting on the now dry ground, eyes still scanning the horizon for any sign of the infamous Tenken.

But he was already gone.

**.0o0.**

Aoshi was trying to get inside a cave. The keyword here is _"trying_."

He was climbing up a mountain somewhere in the north of Japan, and the man's main goal was to reach a certain temple that was said to exude wisdom, quiet power, inner strength, and all that jazz.

A small snowball 'plopped' on top of Aoshi's head. The man looked up, only to see the furry brown tail of some small animal disappear into the feathery whiteness. The snow was beginning to fall a little bit harder, and the tall man wrapped his coat tighter around himself.

'Hidden temple, here I come,' he thought, stepping up the snow-covered ledge with a resolve steelier than Saitou's.

He had better climb fast. Aoshi didn't like the fact that the snow was starting to ruin his hair.

**.0o0.**

"Misao! You're supposed to be resting!"

The young woman jerked up in surprise, hurting her back. She groaned, rubbing it, and shot Omasu a look of annoyance.

"You don't have to shout," she rasped, pausing to drain another cup of water. "Everyone can hear you!"

"Dear girl!" clucked the woman, rushing to Misao and grabbing her cup to refill it, "You'd better take care of yourself more carefully! Why, if that young man hadn't rescu—"

"You mean he did rescue me?" she interrupted, looking at Omasu with wide, opaline eyes.

The older woman blinked. There was a quiet silence afterwards.

"...who rescued you, dear?" she asked, as if she hadn't said a thing. Or maybe Okon was right, and Omasu really did have a bad memory.

Misao wanted to claw her hair in frustration.

"The Tenken!" she cried, "He left this morning!"

"He did?" another voice asked. Both ninja women looked up to see Okina standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at them both with a grave expression on his face. He had his cane, as always, and was already dressed for the morning's activities.

Slowly, the old man nodded his head. "I knew it. Maybe it's not yet time for him to stay."

"S-STAY?" Misao was incredulous. "You asked him to STAY!" Her throat was beginning to hurt again. "Besides," she added, "I didn't need saving!"

Okina didn't respond, instead looking out of the dining room. His gaze travelled all the way past the doors, and into the marketplace, looking for a young man he knew was not there.

"A little more time…" he muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "…maybe."

**.0o0.**

The list was opened during mid-afternoon, when the sky was a cool color of grey-blue, and the air was filled with the scent of apples.

A small brown bird hopped to and fro on the branch of a tree, seemingly excited about something humans did not know of.

Misao hadn't been able to go out all day, and instead, was forced to stay cooped up inside the Aoiya with almost nothing to do but rest, rest, rest. All the Oniwabanshu, save Okina, made sure of that.

"If you want to get better quicker, then you'd better take care of yourself properly!"

Of course, the four men and women couldn't be at the okashira's side all day—after all, they had a restaurant to run. Leaving the ninja girl to herself was much too dangerous, Kuro had observed, and everyone seemed to agree with him.

"Let's just tell her to stay inside." Suggested Omasu, shrugging.

"Words won't make much of a difference," Okon reminded her, "Remember what happened the last time we told her off?"

"Please, don't remind me," muttered Shiro, waving the thought away like it was foul gas.

They all let out a sigh. "Maybe we can…uh…threaten her with something…" shrugged Kuro. "Y'know…like…no dinner for three weeks?"

"That's cruel!" pointed out Omasu, "Besides, I'm sure there's something else we can do!"

"Like what?"

"Like…um…er…cutting off her braid?"

Silence.

"That's it!" said the chubby man, "Cut off her braid!"

Misao had been growing her hair since she was about six years old, and they all guessed that she wouldn't want it shorter any time soon. Well, they were right. The ninja girl treasured her braid just as she treasured Aoshi-sama's love…well, if he _did_ give her love, which was still a matter to be determined.

Anyway, if disobey she will, then chopped off her braid will be. The four Oniwabanshu waiters and waitresses congratulated each other over the brilliant new idea that they had conjured up.

And so, it was.

**.0o0.**

Misao squinted at her writing, seated in her room. It was a bit dark, but not so dark that she couldn't read properly. The dimness and the four walls around her just served as a reminder that she had been indoors all day…rotting.

_Stupid threat_, she thought, annoyed. They just had to involve her braid, didn't they? Hrrmph!

Beside her lay her old brush set, which she hadn't used in maybe…three months. The ink was running dry, and so the young woman had snuck into Okina's room to borrow his bottle without asking.

Her hand was poised over the scroll, ready to cross out items that she didn't think were necessary anymore.

"Must be leader of the Oniwabanshu…" she muttered. Item number four was the first to go, since that didn't apply to her dear Aoshi anymore. Carefully, Misao lowered her ink-loaded brush to the paper, crossing it out neatly.

"Now…what else?" she mused, looking over the rest of the writing.

Her eyes stopped at number six.

_6. Wears cool trench coat._

An image of Aoshi suddenly materialized in her mind, serious, cold and standing tall in that brown coat that he always wore.

And then, quite unexpectedly, another person appeared, but unlike Aoshi, he wasn't wearing a trench coat. He was wearing a blue gi, with what looked like a white shirt underneath.

"Tenken…" Misao muttered, a note of surprise in her voice. "…what on earth…?"

Aoshi wore a trench coat, but Soujiro didn't. The ninja girl frowned. But what exactly did he have to do with her list of things, anyway? And why…why was she even considering him when going over her list?

_It's not like he's a candidate, or anything…I mean…Aoshi-sama's the only one I'm gonna marry!_

The young woman scowled, quickly crossing item number six out, so that she wouldn't have to think about it.

'Besides,' she thought, 'What if he doesn't wear his coat anymore?' and as an afterthought, '…and besides, Tenken isn't the only one without a super-cool outfit like Aoshi-sama's, right?'

_Right_, answered a smug voice in her head. _Right indeed._

She waited for the writing to dry, for a moment, and then rolled the scroll up, tying it up carefully. Misao but it back in the corner of her room, but not before taking a long look, as if rethinking what she had written.

After a few seconds, the girl shrugged, tossing the list aside and exiting. The door closed behind her with a soft 'thud'.

Something was very wrong here.

**.0o0.**

**The fourth chapter, everyone. Sou has left the Aoiya (awww…) and Misao rethinks item number six. :D. What on earth could possibly happen next? XD I've revised the first three chapters…so all of those info errors have gone bye-bye. Thanks again to all of you out there who were kind enough to point them out. :)**

…**and yes, now that I think about it, Misao _did_ look like a piñata. :) haha…**


	5. A Man of God

**The Hundred Item List**

_**A Man of God**_

By Leishe

Hiroko leaned down to fan the face of her sleeping child, who was lying on the makeshift hammock that her husband had put up inside the Aburakoji sword shop. It was a sweltering hot day once again, and she was left to keep watch over their small business.

She sighed, and her eyes wandered out the window, watching the sun-bathed streets for the crooked form of her father and his walking stick. The woman frowned.

Shinichi had decided to shut down the shop, a month after the last customer, when two officials had paid them a visit. According to her husband, they had given the Aburakoji patriarch two weeks to pack up the swords for confiscation, and then to close up the business.

It seemed that her father hadn't known that swords were outlawed now.

"Don't worry," Goro, her uncle, had said a few days before, "Shinichi's a crafty old louse…I'm sure he'll figure out a way to survive. Besides, he wouldn't let your sisters down, would he?"

"Sure," Hiroko muttered to herself sarcastically, her eyes flitting to her son, who was beginning to stir. Ichiro was a bright-eyed little boy, and his mother feared for his future. Already, it was beginning to look bleak, just because of his grandfather's doings…or lack thereof.

The woman sighed again, this time looking at the swords, which were already packed into bundles and piled on top of each other, lying on the floor. Hiroko thought of the last person who had come into the shop, seeking to find a sword...the polite young man who kept bowing…Seta-san.

She wondered what happened to him, wondered why he'd wanted a weapon no better than a kitchen knife. The sakabattou didn't appear to be very useful, and in her father's eyes was something very worthless. Why, he'd been more than happy to trade it with the Kikuichimonji-norimune that Seta-san had brought with him.

Ichiro woke up, rubbing his eyes, and yawning widely.

"Hahaue…" he said, in his small adorable voice, "It's very hot."

Hiroko smiled and began fanning his face again, flicking her wrist a bit quicker this time. "I know, I know. But maybe when ojisan comes back, he'll bring you some candy."

The toddler shifted his position, scowling. "I don't want candy…'Sides, ojisan never brings me nothin'."

She looked at her son carefully. "I suppose you're right, Ichiro. Some things never do change."

**.0o0.**

He was walking away from the storm, and the storm away from him.

Soujiro did not look back as the city of Kyoto shrank slowly into the horizon. A smile was painted on his face as he left, and his step was easy and relaxed, as always. But that was a month and a half ago

Now, he was lying in the middle of a forest, nestled comfortably on a bed of dry grass. It was late morning, and he had just woken up from a dreamless sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, gaze meeting the blue sky.

There were no clouds today.

Instinctively, a smile crossed his features, and he stretched leisurely, getting up. Letting out a small yawn, the young man stood, inhaling the refreshing smell of morning. Soujiro smoothed his clothes, getting the grass off; and when he was done, he began walking.

According to the group of farmers that he had met the other day, the next town was about fourteen miles from where he was—a relatively short distance. It was a small, ordinary community…so small that it had failed to appear on some maps.

He was now padding down, through the trees and the shadows cast by their leaves, towards the small clear brook that he had found yesterday. There were no creatures living there, save for a bunch of small tadpoles wriggling in the water. He knelt down.

Soujiro cupped his hands, lowering them into the water. It was very cold. He splashed some onto his face, blinking the liquid away from his eyes. The feeling was absolutely wonderful. Closing his eyes, the boy breathed deeply, listening to the comforting silence of the forest, grateful for the thick leaves blocking the blasts of sunlight.

_Rustle._

Somewhere, something moved. It was not an animal. His body froze reflexively, his ears perking up at the sound of another voice.

"…Father, please cleanse me of my sin…forgive me of my transgressions, O Lord…dwell in my heart once more…"

It was low, speaking the words in a rhythmic, heavy manner. Soujiro looked up, wondering where the voice was coming from.

"….Prince of Peace, Mighty King…"

The forest surrounded him; there were trees on every side. The young man stood up, narrowing his eyes. Whoever was chanting those words was a good distance away from him, and probably harmless.

He took a step forward, and the leaves crumpled under his foot.

The chanting stopped. Soujiro's eyes darted to his left, where he sensed a slight movement. Words were coming from that direction, and he heard a faint, scuffling noise. He walked towards the spot, slowly, quietly.

Beyond the cluster of trees that blocked his view was a small clearing, glimmering with dew-laden, fresh grass that smelled of water. In the middle of the clearing was a small brown lump with what looked like two stubby legs poking out of it. He squinted.

"…in your mighty name, Amen."

Soujiro watched as the lump unfolded itself, and as the legs stood up, revealing themselves as a small bald man with small eyes and a short black beard. He was wearing what looked like a servant's tunic, with a small mark emblazoned on the right sleeve.

The man didn't notice the stranger watching him from the trees at first, but when he turned around, the wanderer was the first thing that he saw. His eyes widened, and the man took a step back.

Despite himself, Soujiro cocked his head to one side.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

The small man gave him a blank stare. "I-I was…I was praying."

Praying. He had never heard this kind of prayer before, one that used the word 'Amen', or one that was recited in the free, awkward manner in which this man had said his. The young man had seen the Buddhist monks before, and also, the Shinto priests, and from what he could see, this small man was neither monk nor priest.

"W-who are you?" the man asked, his eyes wandering to the hilt of the sakabattou.

"Oh. Seta Soujiro. I'm a wanderer here." He spoke nonchalantly, apparently more interested in the nature of this new religion the man was practicing.

"Are you a Buddhist?" Soujiro asked, looking at the stranger curiously.

He shook his head. "I'm a Christian."

"I thought they killed all the Christians."

"Not me…" the man hesitated, "You won't tell them…will you?"

"Tell who?"

"My masters. They'd refuse to let me work for them, if they found out. They'd kill me. That's why I go all the way here to pray."

"…oh."

The wanderer looked at him with what could be called a sympathetic expression, but Soujiro didn't really know how to express sympathy that well. He didn't really know what it was like to be persecuted for his belief, and he doubted if he was going to be, at any rate.

"Do you have a god?"

He jerked up at that question, looking at the man in surprise.

"What?"

"I said, do you have a god?"

Soujiro stared at him for a moment, as if wondering what the question really meant. He did believe there was a God, but whether it was _his_ god or not—he wasn't sure of that just yet. The man waited, but the boy did not say anything.

A slight smile formed on his lips. It seemed that the man had decided that Soujiro wasn't going to kill him for being a Christian, and was actually quite harmless.

"Maybe…you are still looking for Him?" He had been like this before, when he was still young, searching for himself, for his purpose in life, and for the truth. This wanderer was probably the same.

The young man looked him in the eye. "Perhaps."

"I am Kanzaki Saburo," he replied, "A manservant of the Lord Akira."

Soujiro smiled, and he looked at the sky, now bright, because the sun was above them both. The grass grew green, and the leaves made a light, quiet noise. Kanzaki looked at him, his eyes settling on the young man's mouth, and he noted how the smile—it seemed to come unnaturally.

"Have you always been like this?"

"What do you mean?" Soujiro was puzzled at his question.

"You know what I mean."

The young man thought for a moment. "Yes." _No._ But that was a long time ago.

The man shook his head. "You can change." Two blue eyes looked at him curiously, examining, questioning, observing.

"Maybe."

A sigh escaped Kanzaki's lips, and he let out a short chuckle of his own, his eyes crinkling. He rubbed the back of his head absently, and began brushing the grass off the lower part of his tunic.

"Well, I think I'd better get back now. It's noontime already."

Soujiro nodded. "You know, once they find out about you, you're as good as dead."

"I know that."

"Then give up. You don't have to believe if you don't want to."

Kanzaki laughed once more, and for some reason, the wanderer found himself getting irritated. Kind brown eyes settled on him, and the young man felt them probing into his very soul. It was a feeling that he didn't find pleasant.

"The Lord is my shepherd. He will keep me safe from harm."

One brow rose. "And how would you know? Where is this Lord of yours?"

The man made a wide, circular motion with his hands. "He is everywhere."

Silence.

Soujiro took one last, long look at the strange, trusting, Christian man that was Kanzaki Saburo, who was, at the same time, annoying and yet, awfully thought-provoking. His presence was a disturbing one.

"I have to go now," the man said, raising his hand in a gesture of farewell. "Take care, wanderer. God bless you."

He nodded curtly, and watched with a hawk's gaze, as the man turned around and walked straight into the cluster of trees, soon disappearing from sight. Soujiro let out a breath that he did not know was there.

He was alone again.

**.0o0.**

The garden was a quiet, sunny, place, filled with hundreds of beautiful flowers blooming colourfully. Trees loomed over the wall, shading a portion of the wide expanse of greenery, and two stone benches stood directly below them.

Sitting on one of the benches was a young man in his early twenties. He was staring off into space—one of his less productive hobbies—once again, just to while his time away, since he had nothing else to do.

After ten minutes, the man sighed, and took a silver bell out of one of the folds of his upper tunic. He rang it softly, and immediately, two servants appeared, each one bearing a silver tray in his hand. Both walked slowly towards the young man, who yawned lazily, and stretched out into a leisurely position on the bench.

The two servants bowed. "Lord Takeshi, we are at your service," they recited.

The man on the bench nodded absently. "Anything from the capital?" he asked, examining his fingers, "Anything…interesting?" The servants looked at each other uncertainly.

"W-well," stammered one, "Nothing, unless you would like to hear about the local happenings."

Lord Takeshi raised an eyebrow. "Do enlighten me, Sho."

The servant Sho nodded, as his co-worker presented the silver tray piled with fruits to the young man, who took it and promptly began eating.

"The eastern part of Kyoto," Sho recited, "Near the area where the river runs, there has been a report of a single man who took out nearly fifty in one blow. He is said to have supernatural speed, and although the victims claim that the person in question is only a kid, we have reasons to believe otherwise."

That bit of news seemed to interest the young man greatly, because he stopped munching on his grapes for a moment, and eyed Sho carefully.

"Where did you hear this?" he asked, "The authorities?"

The servant shook his head. "No, sir, I overheard some old men talking the matter over in the marketplace a few weeks ago, when Lady Mitsuko, your mother, sent me to pick up some paintings that were being delivered from Tokyo."

Lord Takeshi grinned, a gesture which normally sent chills running down the back of people's spines. Both servants shuddered.

"I like this piece of news, Sho. Bring me more about this so-called 'supernatural man'. I would like to…test his powers, so to speak."

Sho couldn't help but shoot the young man a look of complete incredulity. "But master! This is only a bit of gossip I heard…only a rumor—" he stopped, as the young man waved him away, with a savage look in his eyes.

"Silence, dog. You know the consequences. I'd like more news about him, and by tomorrow, if you please." He turned to the other servant. "Nobu, more fruits. I don't like these." He pushed the silver tray to the floor, and it fell, clattering.

Both servants bowed hastily, with the one called Nobu picking up the tray, and exited. They left him there, the Lord Takeshi, sitting down in a cross-legged position, twining his fingers around each other in a sinister way.

"Gossip, maybe, but it is an interesting piece of gossip."

Yasuda Takeshi was a man who had it all. His father, Yasuda Zenjiro, was the founder of the Yasuda zaibatsu, one of the wealthy business families that popped out at the end of the Tokugawa era. Being the heir to an enormous fortune, the young man was faced with huge responsibilities…all of which he promptly ignored.

"Something tells me…that I'm going to see blood again." He licked his lips.

"…wonderful."

**.0o0.**

Aoshi couldn't fly. Could Aoshi fly? Misao wrinkled her brow, before crossing number thirty-three of off the list. She had been working on it for a few days now, carefully scanning the whole scroll for anything that Aoshi couldn't qualify for anymore, as well as things that weren't unique to the former okashira alone.

So far, the weasel girl had been making good progress. She was healing fast. Actually, she was already perfectly healthy. Not a trace of the injuries were to be seen, thanks to the painstaking work of the Oniwabanshu.

The brush and ink set were being put to good use, and so were her writing skills, as Okon was happy to observe. Even the curious Okina had tried to take a peek at the list, only to have five dozen kunai and three shuriken (where did she get _those_?) fly out at him, and nearly nail him to the wall.

"Burn that list, Omasu." The old man croaked, "It's making her evil."

The woman just laughed at him, walking past. "It's not that, Jiya. You're just getting old."

Misao, for her part, had taken out a good twenty items, or more, off the list, and had added some new ones, some of which applied to Aoshi, and surprisingly, some of which did not.

The girl put a neat line over 'First name starts with 'A' as well as 'Last name starts with 'S'. Way too specific, she told herself. Besides, there were a lot of people who's names fitted those requirements. Misao shuddered. And some were none too decent.

"Must…like…mushrooms." She wrote it quickly, in small characters, over the line that covered the original numbers sixteen and seventeen. Misao didn't know _why_ she wrote that, but it just occurred to her that people who liked mushrooms seemed a bit friendlier than people who hated them.

"It's just an observation," she told Omasu, who was looking at the list one day. The older ninja woman just smiled at her understandingly. "I know, Misao-chan…" she sighed. "It's going to be absolutely _wonderful_ preparing the menu for your wedding…I'll be sure to put in LOTS and lots of delicious sautéed mushrooms."

"Er…okay." Misao shot her a weary glance, getting the scroll and rolling it up neatly. She tucked it into its usual place, at her side, preparing to leap precariously out the dining room once more.

"I'll be at the riverside…Be back home in time for dinner!"

Omasu was incredulous. "But Misao—!"

Too late. She was already gone.

**.0o0.**

**Hi everyone:) Sorry for the late update…I don't think I'm going to be able to update much very soon, since we start school on Monday. :( I know it's summer break for all you guys out there…you're sooo lucky! Hehe…anyway, I hope you liked this chapter—I introduced some new characters, by the way. A bit shorter than the usual. :D. More Sou than Mi this time. Thanks a gazillion to all the kind reviewers! XD Your words are greatly appreciated.**

**Oh, before I forget, here's a bit of information : During the Meiji Era, any other religion besides Buddhism and Shinto was taboo, Christianity included. If I'm not mistaken, foreigners were feared and hated, so there were very few or no missionaries at that time. The man Sou meets in this story, Kanzaki, is one of the few people who were able to make contact with a missionary, and revealing his faith would result to the loss of his life. :D**

**This note is getting extremely long, but no matter! There's still room for review responses:)**

Whisper of the Wind: a piñata is paper Mache party treat, filled with candy, which is hung from the ceiling. :) The celebrant beats it up with a stick until it cracks and all the candy comes falling out for the guests to collect. :D

**sangPakko**: Yay! Thank you! I wonder who that writer is… :) Thanks for the review!

**Bando-Eido no Megami-sama**: Wahaa? Why? SouMi stories are great! You should read the stuff here…good quality, yup. Thank you! I shall try to update soon, if my schedule allows. :)

**Andrea is cute**: heh, you're not the first one who's told me that. :D A friend of mine pointed that out, but I didn't pay attention to him. :D Thanks for the bit of information, though… :-) I'm glad you like my story! Thank you very much for the review!

(the psychic): Er…I'm not sure who you are… XD but thanks for liking it! Sou has some adventures coming, of course, but we'll just have to wait and see if they have anything to do with Misao. :P Angst and Romace? Sure, why not? I'll try! ;)

**mataka**: uhm…maybe…sometime mid-June, or something. It depends on my schedule. Thank you for the review!

**Lau**: whoo…do you write long ones! XD Thanks a lot, though, I really enjoyed reading this one. :D I don't have it pre-written (I wish!) but when a jolt of inspiration hits me, I begin typing like crazy. :P Our dear Sou shall return, don't worry:) I just didn't want to put him in the Aoiya, like you said, so…yeah. ;D Aoshi wearing that coat of his reminded me of Neo… XD it's really amusing, imagining him like that. I put the snowball in because I wanted an Aoshi part, and his hair never really gets messed up, does it? ;D I wonder what kind of gel he uses…

I guess Misao thought of Soujiro, because he was the last male that made an impact on her, or something. I dunno…but then again, I suppose you're right. Any normal warm-blooded female would think twice about Sou once meeting him. :D Anyway, thanks a lot for your review!

**MellowyelloW2007**: wow. Thanks so much:D I'm really glad you like this story. You just made my day a little bit brighter:) In truth, it's reviews like these that get me typing, although constructive things help as well. I won't abandon this story (I hope), and I'll try to update when I can. Thank yoouuuuuuuuuuuuuu:D

Spork111: Thanks! Haha… ;D

Noname: Thank you, and you're right. Misao's gotta think out of the box a bit more, when it comes to men. Heehee:)

Smiling Blue-Clad Wanderer's 0bsessor: thanks! For what a piñata is, please see my response to 'Whisper of the Wind'. Will Sou come back? Maaayyybeee….XD

Love Chronicle: thank you! Writing in character is one of my tougher challenges, though. :D hum…Sou will return…in time. :-) Meanwhile, keep reading!

Babygirl: Yup, he's leaving…at least he doesn't stay at the Aoiya, right? Hehe…anyway, thanks for the review!

**Wicked Enough**: hey there:D so glad you like this! You're reviews really help me. XD About updating quickly…I try, I guess…but summer here in my place is ending…nooooo:( and the ink…well…ink comes in many forms, I guess…so there's nothing wrong with using ink in a bottle, is there? ;P Thank you for your review…and update, will you! Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaseee:D

Flying weasel- Yay. Actually, Misao didn't fly. Well, not in this chapter, anyway. :D

**Autumn Willow**- Ei! Yup, halatang pinoy nga. :D But who cares? 'Tik-tilaok' fitted better than 'cockadoodle-doo' did. XD

**.0o0.**


	6. Hataori

**The Hundred Item List**

_**Hataori**_

By Leishe

The marketplace of Kyoto was a pleasant place to be, alive and bustling in the later hours of the morning. Light filtered in softly; it wasn't such a hot day today, while the air smelled of the usual; dried fruits, fresh vegetables, and the enchanting fragrance of the jasmine tea leaves.

People milled about happily, some merchants and vendors, some buyers, all hagglers. Children ran around squealing, with the older ones hurriedly running off to school and the younger ones tagging along behind their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, or perhaps even their grandparents.

A familiar pair of children chased through the crowd.

"Komachi, hurry up, we're gonna be late!"

The small girl glared at her older brother, struggling to keep up. "Coming, coming," she mumbled, dragging the two packed lunches along. It was a warm, humid day, and everything was getting sticky and hot.

Mamoru looked up at the clear sky, shading his eyes with his hand. "Sensei Kanzaki's probably there already…" he murmured, casting an impatient glance back at his sister.

"If only you'd carry the lunch—" she retorted, "—we wouldn't be late, then you wouldn't have to shout at me, and everything would be less—"

She stopped, all of a sudden.

The older boy looked back and blinked at her. "Uh…okay." He scratched his head. "Aren't you going to finish?"

But Komachi didn't finish. She just stood there, with her eyes going a bit wide, and her mouth hanging open slightly. Her gaze seemed to go past her brother…somewhere behind…

Mamoru frowned, and made a movement to grab her hand. "What's wrong? Stop standing there…we'd better get goi—yaaagh!" The boy yelped as he felt someone grab him roughly by the collar of his shirt, and lift him into the air. Somewhere, a snicker escaped someone's lips.

His sister only stood there, gaping.

**.0o0.**

The shuffling sound of people settling onto mats was heard inside the restaurant, as well as the soft hum of conversation being exchanged over a delicious meal of Uni Maki and Ebi Tempura. The mood was light inside the Aoiya, and there were not too many customers today, the main reason being that the Shirobeko had announced an all-you-can-eat buffet for anyone who purchased a meal that cost over one hundred and sixty yen.

Shiro's hand grabbed Misao's shoulder just in time, making the ninja girl stumble back into the kitchen. The man looked at her accusingly.

"And just where are YOU going, Misao-chan?"

The young woman shot him a wounded look, before answering. "Can't a growing girl go out and get some decent food to eat, once in a while?"

"You're on duty today," the big man replied, not taking his hand off her shoulder. "Didn't you listen to Okon a while ago?"

"Jeez, you're becoming more like her everyday, you know?" she replied, brushing his hand off and rolling her eyes. "And for your information," Misao added, "I DID listen to her." Shiro raised an eyebrow.

"No going out till your shift is over, okay?" he lectured. "Besides, we don't want you getting into trouble again."

Misao waved him off dismissively, picking herself up.

"Oh come on, Shiro," she turned around to face him, with her arms obliquely downward, as if to present herself. The girl grinned. "I'm seventeen, for kami-sama's sake!"

_Ring! Ring!_

"Gyozaebisutekkamakiudonkatsukiyaki!" Omasu's shrill voice rang into the kitchen, along with the sound of the small food bell. It was time to bring in the cooked meals.

The male ninja pointed an arm towards the dining area of the restaurant, keeping one eye on the reluctant waitress. Misao slumped her shoulders as Shiro pushed the flat wooden tray into her hands. He prodded her impatiently.

"Go on. Go. The customers can't wait forever, you know."

The young woman let out a breath, rolling her eyes once more. "I know, I know."

Shiro chuckled to himself quietly, as he watched the weasel girl shuffle towards the counter, where Omasu pushed out dish upon dish of food, and pile them onto the tray. The door to the dining room slid open, and then shut.

Shiro stood there for a little while longer, staring at the door.

"Well," the fat man murmured to himself, "I suppose she _is_ getting a _bit_ more responsible…" he trailed off, sighed, and shook his head. "Little Misao is growing up, then."

**.0o0.**

He walked down the wide dirt road like most travellers did; with the dust trailing softly behind him, and the dry wind lifting the ends of his bangs from his face from time to time. In appearance, he was like them: with dusty, shoddy clothes and worn-out sandals, yet in gait, he was totally different.

The farmers walked with a weary, tired trudge, sometimes accompanied by the dismal cloppety-clop of the hooves of their oxen, or the irritating chatter of the chickens that weren't fat enough yet to sell at the market.

"Oi! You there! Boy!"

He looked up to see a tall brown horse right behind him, with an equally tall man perched on top of it.

"Get out of the way!"

The merchants travelled on their horses, and seldom on foot. They strode forward deliberately, at a brisk, businesslike pace, eager to start trading or to begin setting up shop in the next town. These men smelled slightly of western cigarettes, and some even wore foreign clothing.

Soujiro was like none of them, preferring to let both farmers, merchants, and commoners pass him by as he walked down the wide dirt road towards Kyoto at a relaxed, easy pace. He smiled although there was nothing to smile at, and more to complain about. But it didn't matter, really. He was nearing the city now, and that was what was important.

The young man blinked as he watched a man pulling a wooden cart filled with bundled-up swords.

His hand flew to his own, now familiar sakabattou, and hints of a grin crept up his mouth.

_Kyoto._

There was something about that place that drew Soujiro to it, but what it was, he didn't really know. Maybe it was the marketplace, with its colourful crowd and alluring sense of community, or maybe it was the riverside, where there was peace and calm, with the sound of the tree leaves rustling as you slept.

"Excuse me, young man."

Soujiro looked up to see the sagging face of an old woman.

"Have you seen a young lady with her husband and a little boy? My daughter-in-law disappeared somewhere, and I can't find her…"

The young man shook his head apologetically, and the woman moved on, asking several more strangers as she went.

Maybe it was that feeling that had welled up inside of him on that fateful rainy night, when he thought that no one would trust him when he brought in that injured Oniwabanshu girl, Makimachi Misao. They had taken him in like he was an old friend, not an enemy, and certainly, not the infamous Tenken no Soujiro.

It was something that he did not quite understand.

Enemies were enemies, weren't they? Only so many people could have the honor of being the strongest, and as the late Shishio-san had said, the road to greatness was splattered with blood.

They had proven him wrong, those Oniwabanshu, and the old master already believed that he was a changed man. But was he, really?

A small sigh escaped his slightly parted lips, and Soujiro fidgeted as he watched a woman herd a dozen sheep down the path, while her husband led the way with their family cart. He surmised that they were nomads, like him. It was a little unusual to see a pack of shepherds going in the direction of the city.

"There it is! There! It's Kyoto!" the excited squeal of a small girl managed to chase chuckles from the current passerby, and the young man let his eyes alight momentarily on her face, bright like the full moon, before shifting his gaze to the sight before them all.

It was Kyoto, indeed. The city gates loomed up in front of the travellers, and many of them started lining their carts and belongings up for inspection.

He opted to go straight in, like the other travellers without many belongings on them. Laughter echoed into his ears, from the young men walking in front of him, who were saying something about the money changing business.

Soujiro shook his head slightly and smiled. Strangely, it felt good to be back.

**.0o0.**

Mamoru was used to being dangled a few feet off the ground by a huge, cruel bully. After all, this happened to him almost everyday, when he and Komachi passed through the marketplace.

The boy was in his mid-teens, had a stocky built, and the brownest teeth anyone had ever seen. Sweat glistened on his forehead, as Taro flashed the younger boy a smug grin. His eyes were on the lunch that the little girl held protectively to her chest.

"Well, well. The Nibori siblings. What's for lunch this time?"

Komachi didn't move, glaring at the boy, not letting go of the bento boxes. Her eyes were like ice.

"Let go of Mamoru!" she shrieked. The bully just laughed. "Only of you give me my lunch, little girl."

The older brother struggled in the teenager's tight grasp, fighting to get loose. "It's not your lunch, you stupid dog! Leave her alone!"

Upon hearing this, the bully scowled, dropping the little boy on the hard, dusty ground. Mamoru landed on his bottom, and was not hurt much, being accustomed to this kind of treatment.

"You want to fight me again?" Taro demanded, a devilish grin lurking at the ends of his mouth.

"Just leave her alone!" Mamoru had already balled his fists, ready to take the bigger boy on. If this was the only way they were going to get out of this, then so be it.

The bully fired the first punch without warning, and caught the younger boy on his jaw. He was sent flying backwards, landing flat on his back in the dust.

_Crash!_

Mamoru didn't move.

"Onichan!"

Komachi was at his side in an instant, and her eyes widened at what the older boy had done to her brother. There was blood all over his mouth; a sight that she was definitely not used to seeing.

"Mamoru!" she cried, shaking him. Slowly, the boy opened his eyes. The blurred image of his sister appeared, and he got to his feet laboriously.

"Komachi…go to Kanzaki-sensei…run…" he spoke with gritted teeth, eyes focused on only one person. A few feet away, the bully grinned some more. He seemed to enjoy pathetic, one-sided fights like these.

"No! I will not go!" the little girl was defiant. "You're going to get hurt! Just stop, will you!"

Mamoru didn't look at her. "If I win, he will leave us alone."

Frustrated, frightened and angry, Komachi stared at her brother in utter disbelief. What was happening to him? Why was he like this all of a sudden? Not knowing what else to do, and being the young, impulsive girl that she was, the little sister threw her head back and screamed.

**.0o0.**

"Miss, there's a HUGE mosquito floating in my miso soup…could you replace it?"

Misao stifled a groan and turned around, balancing all three of the wooden trays successfully while she took the bowl of the complaining customer. The young woman put on a forced smile.

"Of course. My pleasure."

Taking an order of a family of three a few tables away, Okon could not help but look at the ninja girl, and chuckle quietly. It was always amusing to watch Misao work at the restaurant, especially since the opportunity was so rare. The woman turned back to her customers.

"…would you like a pot of tea to go with that?"

Misao was on her way to the kitchen then, balancing all that she had with her carefully. She sidestepped a few tables, weaving her way through the quiet commotion as quickly and as skilfully as she could. The young woman had almost made it to the counter, when a piercing scream sliced the air in half.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

_Crash!_

The trays clattered to the floor, as Misao looked up in bewilderment. Fragments of porcelain lay strewn around the wooden flatboards, along with several plates. She turned her head towards the direction of the scream. It was from outside, in the general direction of the marketplace.

"What's going on out there?" She didn't like the tone of the scream…it was…disturbing. Misao always did have sensitive ears. Her feet were soundless as they walked out of the restaurant, driven by curiosity and growing concern.

"Misao-chan?" Omasu peeked out of the kitchen, curious as to what was going on. "Misao-chan, where are you going?"

Nothing answered her; only silence and the quiet hum of the restaurant.

"Mi…chan?"

The older woman let out a sigh. Ever since the weasel girl was a child, she had always been like that; when someone was in trouble, she was one of the first to help. It was one of her better traits as a person, even if one really took Misao that seriously. Misao was Misao, and nothing would change. She was the young and bright okashira; the occasionally reckless and happy-go-lucky girl.

Okon smiled.

Okina probably thought of her as a daughter, and it was evident that they all loved her as if she were their own sister. Misao was the small thing that brightened up the days of the Oniwabanshu; everyone's younger sibling, part of the family…even for Aoshi.

Omasu paused at that thought, wondering. _Yes_, she concluded. Misao was like a sister. _Even for Aoshi._

**.0o0.**

Taro was getting annoyed. Really, he was. Not only did the little tramp refuse him his lunch, but the wench just had to wail about incessantly in her high-pitched, irritating howl. Really, now. Where were civilized punching bags these days?

The bully gritted his teeth. Mamoru was no match for him, obviously. Tossing a younger boy around was getting old, when he did it almost everyday. Why, that little rat couldn't even get up right after the first punch, let alone the second one!

Taro cast a disinterested glance at the boy, who was lying facedown in the dirt.

He began walking towards Komachi, and her teared-up eyes widened as she saw his hulking form approach. The small girl began to tremble, and at the same time, the sound of a door flying open was heard.

"Shut up, little girl," growled the boy, grabbing her thin arm roughly. She shrieked and tried to pull away from him, but it was of no avail. Mamoru tried to get up, but he was too weak to fight. Instead, the young boy reached for a stone lying near him, and flung it at Taro's head.

The stone bounced off the back of the older boy's nape, and fell to the ground. The bully ignored it, still holding onto Komachi. His long, dirty fingers reached out to grab the lunch that she held tightly to herself.

"No!" cried the little girl, "It's not yours!"

"Not for long." He sneered.

But as Taro wrenched the box violently away from the younger Nibori sibling, another voice rang into the air.

"Hey, let go of her!"

Both children looked up in surprise at the owner of the voice. They blinked when they saw who it was.

She was a young woman, standing outside the Aoiya restaurant, dressed in a deep blue outfit and a white apron. Her arms were on her slim hips, and a frowning, defiant expression on her face. From where they were, she cast an intimidating persona. A long, black braid fluttered behind her in the weak breeze.

The teenager blinked also. He recognized her…she was one of those Oniwabanshu people. He was no stranger to their existence. They had saved his aunt's family's house once before from those freakish Juppongatana men.

But who exactly did this waitress girl think she was? To come in between him and his precious lunch was enough reason for the bully to hate them.

Taro took a step back, still holding onto the bento box. He scowled darkly.

"No."

Misao took a step forward. She really, really disliked bullies. Especially those who stole things from innocent, small children who wanted nothing more than to go to school peacefully, for once. Her green eyes flashed to the sobbing figure of the little girl. So. She was the screamer.

The young woman glared at the bully. She could see that he was only about two years younger than her. And the children were about…six or seven? A low growl escaped her throat.

"It's not nice to steal food from children."

Komachi, tears dribbling down her chin, looked up. She could sense something bad was going to happen.

**.0o0.**

The river and the trees were on the other side of town, near the Aoiya. It was probably a little cooler there than it was here, in the midst of people milling around. Soujiro considered speeding there, but decided against it, lest he attract attention from anyone. He looked up to the sky, shading his eyes. It was a clear, humid day. Very nice for a picnic.

"Pass it around, boys."

A bunch of men were gathered at the front of a sake shop, drinking. A few of them were drunk, some more than others. They were passing several bottles around, guzzling as they went. Soujiro glanced at them from out the corner of his eye. Oddly enough, their leader looked familiar.

He slackened his step. _Of course_, he thought. _The men from the riverside. _A small smirk formed on his lips. He could see that they hadn't changed much.

**.0o0.**

When the leader saw the boy walk by, he lowered the lip of the jug from his mouth, and stared at him in disbelief. It had been a long time since the 'tree girl' incident, but if his memory served him right, the kid with the sword walking by them right now was the same one who had beaten them all up more than a month ago.

His grip on the handle of the jug tightened. He turned to a sleazy-looking fat guy who sat nearby, casually jabbing a thumb at Soujiro.

"That kid again."

The man nodded and hiccupped, indicating that he didn't remember, or was too drunk to care. Another of his followers, however, took notice as well.

"You mean the one who—"

"Yeah, yeah…him." The leader waved the second man away casually. He didn't like reminiscing humiliating defeats. Especially if those defeats were at the hands of a scrawny little brat who looked like he hadn't eaten for days.

"So…what do we do to him boss? Should we follow 'im?"

The tall man slammed the jug onto a nearby table, taming down his violent hiccups. He looked at his men strangely.

"Sure. Just make sure he gets what he deserves. No one humiliates the handsomest men in Kyoto!"

Thirty more voices voiced their agreement loudly, raising their own jugs into the air, before guzzling down the unpaid-for sake. A wobbly grin climbed up the leader's mouth, and he swivelled his head in Soujiro's direction.

"Payback time, supernatural-boy."

Several people froze as he did this, but the young man just kept walking, as if oblivious.

**.0o0.**

Sho was a mere droplet in the massive sea of people crowding the marketplace during the lunch hour, and it was not uncommon to see the servants of the zaibatsu wandering around the city, often on trivial errands. Society had dismissed it as one of those "rich people things", and paid no heed.

"Oi."

"Hello."

This time, however, it was a little bit different.

Sho wiped his sweaty forehead with a piece of clean cloth, squinting his eyes in the midst of the bright, beating sunlight. His stomach groaned, even after the man had had his lunch. The servant grimaced.

"Lord Takeshi and his whims…" he muttered, frowning and sidestepping a drunk old man. "Why, if master Zenjiro hears of this, that young man will be in more trouble than he's worth…"

Takeshi had sent the his servant to Kyoto the day before, ordering the poor, overworked, yet obsessively dedicated Sho to weasel out the truth behind the seemingly mythical young man who was said to possess incredible speed. The servant had done everything in his power to dissuade the heir from doing so, but, unfortunately, Lord Takeshi had an annoying, unbelievably twisted, one-track mind.

"Go, please. Be back in two days, okay? I want to hear all about it." His hand moved slightly in the gesture of dismissal.

Those were the last words that Sho had heard from the young man, before he set off to journey to the capital city.

Tok.

Tok.

Tok.

…and now, he was walking along the streets at a leisurely pace, grateful for the change of scenery. Even though the man suspected he was being sent on a wild goose-chase, it was quite nice to be in Kyoto again.

"Fuuuji apples!"

"Live chickens at half price! Hurry, only twenty left!"

"Three hundred yen? Preposterous!"

"Okay…let's see if we can compromise…"

"…quick, get it when he's not looking!"

"…"

"Hey! Come back, you brats! THIEF! THIEEEF!"

Soon, Sho turned a corner, and found himself in a less populated area, lined with restaurants. He heard more voices once arriving there.

"…you can't hurt me!"

"Oh, I can, all right."

The cracking of knuckles.

"But whether I choose to hurt you or not still remains to be seen."

The servant perked his ears up, and with eyes widening, quietly observed the little drama that was taking place in the sparsely populated street. There were about only four participants standing on the dusty street. Two children, he could see, and two older ones.

Someone stepped back cautiously.

"You Oniwabanshu aren't supposed to hurt people!"

Silence.

"You aren't supposed to steal lunch from babies."

A head looked up from the dust, and the owner raised a hand in protest.

"We're not babies."

The speaker ignored the head, and turned her attention back to the one who had stolen lunch. She took another step forward.

"Give it, if you know what's good for you."

A pause.

"No."

"Why not? You're fat enough. These kids need their food more than you do."

"Keep out of this," he growled.

"Why should I?" there was a hint of mockery in her voice.

"Because," the bully's voice was rising, "If you don't, there will be consequences."

Misao didn't reply for a while, looking from Komachi to Taro to Mamoru. She seemed to be thinking. After a few moments, the ninja girl spoke, addressing the teenager.

"…you're looking for a fight, aren't you?"

**.0o0.**

Soujiro knew they were there. He always knew. The men were not exactly as quiet as mice, especially since most of them were very, very tipsy, to put it mildly. Nevertheless, the young man continued walking with his usual gait, without the smile on his face. It was a bit odd for the former Tenken, but today, he just didn't feel like grinning like a plastic doll.

A cart selling custom-made keys rattled by him, with the merchandise clinking against each other, making a sound similar to that of windchimes.

Where am I going? He wondered for a while. There was nothing that he had to accomplish in this city, and certainly, no one important to visit. Only Okina and the Oniwabanshu were here.

_Grroannn…_

Soujiro put his hand on his stomach absently.

_Lunch. I'm here to get lunch._ And as an afterthought, he added, _at the Aoiya._

**.0o0.**

Sho did not move from where he was. The middle-aged man didn't enjoy street fights, but he felt it in his bones that something important was going to take place, and that maybe, maybe he would find what he was looking for soon enough.

The servant held his breath, and waited.

**.0o0.**

The wanderer could see the street of restaurants, already. The path was not that crowded, considering that it was already a bit past lunchtime.

Thud

Thud

_Buuuurrp._

He pretended not to notice the group of sake-drinking hooligans. Soujiro did not want to cause any trouble. At least, not in this place. A thought at the back of his head screamed, telling him that something troublesome was going to happen, involving him and those men, if Soujiro didn't do something about them anytime soon.

And being the smart, quick-witted, and extremely exasperating person he was, the young man completely ignored that thought.

**.0o0.**

Taro had a very sensitive nose. He sniffed the air, detecting a very unpleasant, very distinct odor. It wasn't that far away, and was approaching the general area around him at a regular rate.

The bully sniffed again, and registered the smell as beer, sweat, and several men who hadn't taken a bath for a few days. He jerked his head up in alarm. Taro knew who they were, and knew that if they were coming, he was going to be in huge trouble.

The men who called themselves the handsomest in Kyoto; the ones that always hung out at the sake shop when they weren't doing anything else. And the worst of them all was their leader…a lazy, thin, and unbelievably stubborn man who spent what little he earned on drinks and who paid no heed to the family needs.

The leader, who also happened to be Taro's dear older brother.

**.0o0.**

Takeshi's room was large, with a high ceiling, big windows that looked out to his splendid garden, and ornate tapestries, paintings, and expensive things scattered here and there.

Right now, the zaibatsu heir was pacing around, walking back and forth, for the lack of anything better to do.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Takeshi stopped abruptly when the door opened a little, revealing a face that he hadn't seen in many years. The young man smiled at the person in the door, and gestured for her to come in.

"Lady Akira!" he greeted, bowing graciously to the young woman, who was dressed in an expensive-looking silk kimono, embroidered with koi fish. She smiled at him demurely, and he sensed something wonderfully sinister behind her pale mask.

"How is my dear brother-in-law?" she asked him, taking a seat on a small cushioned chair, near one of the windows.

"The servants told me that you wouldn't be taking in any visitors at the moment, so I opted to go straight to your room instead."

Takeshi let out a short laugh, smiling at Lady Kiyoko Akira, the woman who had married his childhood friend, a man who he considered his brother.

"So, to what do I owe this visit?" he asked.

Kiyoko smirked. "It seems that one of our servants has committed a terrible crime." She leaned back into the chair, stroking its armrest lazily. "You know the one that Yoji trusted the most? The old, peculiar man who always went to the forest for lunch?"

Takeshi nodded, losing interest in the topic. "Yes. Kanzaki, isn't it. Why?"

"Well…" the young woman grinned, her small teeth flashing in the light. "It turns out that he has taken up Christianity."

The heir straightened up, knowing immediately what Lady Akira had come to him for. He smiled in an evil way, eyes shining brightly.

"And you want me to kill him, right? In front of you?"

Kiyoko nodded. "In the most creative way possible, dear brother." She paused to let out a refined chuckle. "I'm so glad we understand each other."

**.0o0.**

**Hi everyone. :) it's been quite a while. Chapter six has been with me for a few weeks, and was only a few minutes ago that I was able to finish it. Sorry for the late update, school's been driving me mad, and it's only been three weeks. As you might have already noticed, this chapter is long, since I wanted to pick up the pace a little bit in terms of plot movement. I hope no one is getting confused with all the minor characters; you can ignore them if you want to, but a few play a key role in the story.**

**Okay, this is as far as I go. :) 'Hataori' is the last chapter where Soujiro and Misao don't meet. :D Thank you for all the kind reviews, and as always, advice, comments and whatnot are greatly appreciated. :)**


	7. Fall into Place

Okay. Since some people found the minor characters confusing, I've decided to put a little key here to clear things up. :) I hope it helps. If anything else is confusing you, please let me know.

Lord Yasuda Takeshi- the heir to the Yasuda zaibatsu. Rich, twisted and has taken interest in a rumor concerning a certain 'supernatural man' from Kyoto.

Lord Akira Yoji- Lord Takeshi's childhood friend, and Kanzaki Saburo's master.

Lady Akira Kiyoko- the wife of Lord Akira. Vain, rich, and a little unstable.

Kanzaki Saburo- a servant of Lord Akira, who is Christian. Met Soujiro in chapter 5.

Nibori Mamoru and Nibori Komachi- the two young siblings that met Soujiro in chapter 1. They also bumped into Misao.

Taro- a bully who frequently picks on the Nibori siblings, stealing their lunch most of the time.

Aburakoji Shinichi- The old man who owns one of the last sword shops in Kyoto. Sold Soujiro his sakabattou.

Aburakoji Hiroko- Shinichi's daughter, a young woman in her thirties. Mother to a small boy named Ichiro.

The Handsomest Men in Kyoto- a group of violent bums with big egos who do little more than drink sake for free. Their leader is Taro's older brother, who is extremely protective of his pride. They beat Misao up at the riverside, but were in turn taken out by Soujiro.

Sho- Lord Takeshi's loyal servant, who was sent to Kyoto to find more about the supernatural man.

Lord Yasuda Zenjiro- Lord Takeshi's father, and the founder of the Yasuda zaibatsu. (He existed in real life. I just made up his family. :D)

Right. Now that that's finished, on with the story! ;P

**The Hundred Item List**

**_Fall into Place_**

By Leishe

It was supposed to be a street fight. Supposed to be. Everything had been perfectly arranged; from the valiant heroine and the poor, helpless victims, to the cruel, heartless bully who beat people up just for fun. Why, even the setting was perfect, with the passerby getting sparser, the wind blowing harder, and the dust flying up lightly from the dry ground.

The two opponents faced each other, neither one saying a word. Near Misao were the two children, crouched on the ground, their large, innocent eyes watching, and waiting.

Under the wooden awning of a carpentry shop stood a slightly plump, middle-aged man, wearing a typical traveler's tunic, and under that, a servant's robe. He too watched the stereotypical, seemingly prearranged setup with grave, patient eyes.

Everything was silent.

_Burrp._

Well, almost.

Misao narrowed her eyes, her fists balling up, and her feet slightly apart. It was time to put Hannya's training to good use.

Taro was also ready, but inside, was not expecting a proper fight, if ever. For through his nose, the teenager had already predicted the seemingly unseen; the coming of a massive cacophony that would most definitely disrupt the almost formulaic equilibrium that lay between them all.

He sniffed the air again, just to make sure. The boy wrinkled his nose in repulsion.

_Yup, that's them alright._

**.0o0.**

Sho's eyes nearly bugged out when he saw what came next. Standing comfortably under the shade, the servant expected to see a fight erupt between the young waitress and the bully, like the ones that happened back at the Yasuda mansion, when the stable boys were in a bad mood.

What happened instead fell a little bit beyond his expectation.

Step.

Step.

A young man, shabbily dressed in a worn-out blue gi, with a sword hanging at his side, suddenly appeared behind the bully. He was smiling at them all, which struck Sho as a bit unnatural.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunkthunkthunk.

Following the young man was a pack of big, dim-looking men who smelled strongly of sake, sweat and grime. The servant paused to cover his nose momentarily, but did not avert his gaze from the play that was taking place right in front of him.

Something very interesting was about to happen.

"Oi!" came a loud, slurred voice, "Little brother! Is that you?"

When the bully took notice of the men, he bolted like a small rabbit, dropping the lunch on the ground and running as fast as possible. His female opponent was taken aback for a while, yelling at him to come back and fight her like a man. She didn't do anything but watch his retreating form in disbelief for a while.

Nobody saw her, but Komachi went to pick up the lunch lying on the ground.

Mentally, Sho counted to three.

_One…_

Misao tore her gaze from the coward, and looked up.

_Two…_

She saw the gang of men, and met Soujiro's smiling gaze. Her eyes widened in even more incredulity.

_Thr—_

"Good afternoon, Makimachi-san."

Silence.

Time froze for a little while, as the young woman stared at the wanderer, her green eyes as big as saucers. Subconsciously, her mind took note of the large mass of evil bums that stood behind him threateningly, but she paid no heed. Instead, one thought repeated and repeated and repeated and repeated in her head, not planning to stop anytime soon.

He's back.

He's back…

He's back…

…back here…again…

…but…why?

Soujiro blinked, and waved his hand in front of her, a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?"

Misao just continued to stare at him, believing, but not wanting to. She blinked as well, several times, and rubbed her eyes a bit for good measure. The young man waited patiently for her to snap out of her trance. Frankly, with Misao staring at him like that, Soujiro was getting a little disturbed.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the ninja girl raised her left hand slightly, reaching out to touch him. The former Tenken, too busy trying to figure out what she was wrong with her, didn't have time to react, as she brushed the tips of her fingers lightly against his cheek.

"Er—"

His first instinct was to flinch upon contact, but before he did, Misao had already pulled her hand away, and looking at him for two seconds more. Her eyes never left his, even as she raised her hand high in the air…

_Pak!_

…and slapped him.

More silence.

The sound was particularly audible, and caused a pack of strolling old women to cast curious glances at them all.

"Ah…young love," one muttered, smiling her crooked smile.

Soujiro, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. What were you supposed to say, anyway, after being slapped really HARD by a girl who you'd only met twice before? The girl was pretty strong, that he admitted. He settled for 'ouch'.

"Ouch."

Misao, on the other hand, was staring at the center of her palm, which was a pinkish color, from where she had hit him. Her eyes flew to the side of the newcomer's cheek. It was the same shade.

"So…" she murmured, frowning, "You ARE real."

He reached to rub the back of his head absently, ignoring the stinging pain of her slap. Soujiro smiled sheepishly, letting out a loose chuckle.

"Well, Makimachi-san, you didn't have to slap me to find out." The tone of his voice was cool, airy and had a light quality to it, as if he didn't care much.

Misao folded her arms, giving him a hard look. "That's beside the point, Tenken. What exactly ARE you doing here?"

The young man looked at her, all expression vanishing from his face. His mouth slackened, and his eyes grew thoughtful. For a moment, the person who was Tenken no Soujiro looked like a normal human being, who thought normal thoughts, while living a normal life. Misao, however, knew better.

"…well?"

And then he smiled, slowly. It was not the strange, little half-smile that never reached his eyes, but a normal, full-blown smile; the kind that showed that you were actually glad about something. In Soujiro's case, he was glad that the weasel girl had asked him that question.

"The truth is, Misao, I don't really know."

**.0o0.**

Sho craned his neck to get a better view of things, and so did the two children. It seemed that the waitress and the wanderer knew each other, somehow, with the familiar, yet unnaturally hostile manner that they talked to each other in.

"Komachi," whispered Mamoru, "I think I've seen him before."

His little sister nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, the Handsomest Men in Kyoto were not enjoying being ignored. They had been standing behind the short, skinny kid for some time now, waiting impatiently as he talked to the familiar-looking girl.

The leader slapped at his arm irritably, shooing a mosquito away. Seeing his little brother again had put him into a foul mood. That, plus the fact that he was drunk, didn't amount to anything good.

"Ishn't that the gurl who shtole your moneybag, bosh?" A very fat and short thug pointed a chubby index finger at the adamant form of Misao, who seemed to be trying to stare at Soujiro until he melted.

"D'uh, yeah…she does look like that wench we did in at the river place…maybe she's her sister…" offered another one.

"Nah…'sides, the girl wasn't wearing an apron," put in a thin, oily-looking man.

The men then started contemplating on the true identity of Makimachi Misao.

A few feet away, Komachi helped her brother to his feet, still holding onto the boxed lunch. The older boy groaned as he got up, clutching his stomach painfully. He gestured weakly at the upright form of Soujiro, eyes widening slightly in recognition.

"It's that guy! It's him! The one who rescued our lunch before, remember?" there was a hint of excitement in his voice.

The little girl blinked. She cocked her head to one side, examining the face of the young man. Slowly, she nodded.

"Yeah…it does look like him…kinda. But his gi WAS a little cleaner last time—"

"What was his name again?" Mamoru interrupted her, looking at the former Tenken in wonder, "Seta…Soujiro, right?"

Komachi nodded again. "That's him."

**.0o0.**

While everyone was busy talking to each other, the boxed lunch that the little girl held possessively in her arm was doing a little communicating of its own. The mischievous bento was calling out to one of the more dim-witted men waiting oh-so-patiently behind Soujiro.

Come, come dear one…come and feast on my delicious insides…

It was tempting him…persuading him…drawing the unfortunate gorilla into its web of sinful gastronomic desire…

Feed on me…taste me…

The man began to drool, looking with half-lidded, hypnotized eyes at the boxed lunch that was with Komachi.

Fooooood, it seemed to say. Eat meeee…eaaaat meeeee…

A weak-minded fool, he certainly was. Without warning, he leapt at it.

**.0o0.**

What happened next was most certainly nothing short of a good, well-played, one-sided street fight. For a second there, Sho almost thought that he had gone up a dead end, and that there was nothing more to see than some disturbing issues concerning the two kids, the funny-looking men, and the pair of confused young people.

Circumstance had proven him wrong.

"Aaah!"

When Komachi had cried out sharply, Misao wasted no time getting to and kicking the offender's lower regions with all the strength she could muster. As the man wailed, keeling over from the pain and clutching himself, Soujiro was momentarily forgotten.

The young woman picked the lunch up and handed it to the little girl. There was a hint of urgency in her voice, as she spoke.

"Go there, okay? You'll be safe. And your brother, too." She pointed in the direction of the Aoiya, where, thankfully, no one had yet gone out to check on her.

Komachi looked up with tearful eyes. There was no way that they would be able to get to school properly, now. Sniffling, she nodded, and began walking towards the restaurant, tugging at her brother's sleeve and urging him to do the same.

"Right, right…" he murmured, looking back as Misao kicked the man again. "I suppose we will be safer there…"

As the children went inside, the Handsomest Men in Kyoto were only beginning to crack their knuckles threateningly and mutter curses under their breath. One particularly ugly scar-faced man was squinting at Misao, trying to figure out from what angle he should punch to make her fly into the some wall real hard.

The smart leader, however, was way ahead of him.

"Charge, valiant men!" he cried, pointing a long, thin finger at the weasel girl, "Avenge your fallen comrade, for such is the maxim of a truly honorable warrior!"

Not many of them knew what exactly he was saying, but since he was drunk, they figured that he just wanted them to go on ahead and beat the girl up, drag their friend's unconscious body back to the sake shop, and order another round without paying the owner a single fraction of a yen.

So, that was what they did.

"Charge!" Yelled the leader, "Charge, charge chaaaarrrrgeee!"

And the men charged. Oooh yes. They charged with all their might, in a brutal, barbaric, and extremely stupid manner, not forgetting to belt out unintelligible battle cries as if they were Tanzanian wolfhounds instead of normal, civilized human beings.

Of course, being the trained, agile and wonderfully on-guard okashira that she was, Misao saw it coming.

The young woman grinned, pulled out five kunai in each hand, and flung the small, sharp weapons at the thugs with deadly accuracy. None of them were actually injured, of course, since the ninja, out of the goodness of her heart, had taken care not to hit flesh, but instead aim for cloth, so that the unfortunate victims were instead pinned to the nearby walls, or to the ground.

"Agghh!"

"Watch out for those pointy things!"

"Ooof!"

"Uurgh!"

"Grroooan!"

It was pretty short work, and pretty amusing for both Sho and Soujiro to watch. The idea of a one-sided fight with one young woman against about thirty burly grown men, with the former on the winning side, was quite hilarious at that time. The servant watched in bewildered stupor as, one by one, Misao knocked half of the men out, armed only with her fists, her feet, and five dozen kunai. (The shuriken, apparently, had been forgotten in a dark corner of her bedroom.)

"Take this! And that! And thatandthatandthat!" The weapons whizzed into the air while she performed a flying kick on the ugly, scarred man, with the attempt being successful. Misao was a whirlwind, albeit, not a very skilled one, but a destructive nonetheless. The men were flying out like discarded peanut shells, at the rate that she was going.

Fifteen seconds later…

Soon, nothing stood before her but a span of dry, dusty ground scattered with unconscious bodies and protesting men who were pinned to the walls by the sleeves of their gis and the flaps of their hakamas.

The weasel girl folded her arms, a triumphant look on her face, surveying her handiwork. As bright green eyes swept over each of the mangled bodies of the fallen men, Misao realized that there was one particular body that was missing.

A deep, scratchy voice came from behind her, making her heart rate speed up a bit.

"Hello, little girlsie."

The leader was breathing down her neck. _Oh no_, she thought. _No. Nononono. Not him. Not him!_ The young woman held her breath and braced herself for the impact of his strike, knowing fully well that he was strong enough to knock her out with one blow… but it never came.

_Pok!_

"Uuuurgh!"

Thud.

Misao blinked.

…_what just happened?_

She turned around to see the man's body in a crumpled heap, on the ground, and Soujiro, standing behind him, holding up the hilt of his sword. The wanderer obviously had something to do with this.

Misao glared at him venomously, a sign that marked the official beginning of Soujiro's acceptance.

"What on earth did you do that for!" she hissed.

The young man, registering her question after a few seconds, merely blinked at her words. He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, she was already talking again.

"I'm no weakling, I could have taken him!" She began ranting. "Just because you have your weird zippy fast Shukuchi technique doesn't mean that I'm a damsel in distress, you know! I mean…I'm a trained ninja, for kami-sama's sake, and the okashira too! That guy is no match for me, Makimachi Misao!"

Soujiro smiled at her.

"Right," he said, putting his hands up in mock resignation. "I'm sorry."

**.0o0.**

Sho straightened up, his ears alert. His eyes were focused on Soujiro. The man's mind was racing. Did he hear it right? The girl had said so herself. He was the one. The one who they said possessed the speed of the gods. Shukuchi, she said, and the servant knew immediately.

"I've found him."

Lord Takeshi was going to be pleased.

**.0o0.**

Before anything began, the old man had confronted him with a question.

"Do you have any doubts?"

The young man thought he knew the answer. He pulled out the sword, showing Okina the blunt edge. The master nodded at it, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"It's a reversed-edge sword," said the wanderer, watching the old man's face. "I got it the last time I was here."

"Indeed," agreed Okina. He looked at Soujiro. "A sakabattou, just like Himura's."

After a pause, the wanderer added, "But I am not Himura, Kawanzaki-san, I am Seta Soujiro."

"Aa, and there is a difference, isn't there?" There was a twinkle in the old man's eyes. He stopped then, as the smell of dinner cooking wafted in from the kitchen. Breathing in deeply, Okina turned to Soujiro again.

"You are staying here for a while, yes?"

He nodded.

"Very well…" the old one trailed off, seemingly satisfied. "Come and have some supper then—" at this point, he grinned, "—you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in ages."

**.0o0.**

It was nearly dinnertime, and the sunset colored the sky beautifully. The blue was now fading into bright, fiery orange, with tendrils of deep violet at growing the ends. Light, feathery clouds drifted lazily, like sheep, as a single early star twinkled further above the day's spectacular encore.

In a small apartment, not too far from the heart of Kyoto, a little girl looked into the sky, her shining eyes reflecting the colors. Komachi smiled.

"Goodbye, sun."

The air was cool, yet humid outside the restaurant, wherein several people sat around the low, flat table, busily eating their dinner. Smells of gyoza, newly cooked rice, and miso soup drifted around, combining with the fragrant jasmine tea leaves that Okina always had lying somewhere. Altogether, it was an intoxicating aroma with the scent of the outside, which was unique only to the Aoiya.

Kuro looked up to sniff the air. "Do you smell that?" he asked, putting his chopsticks down, "It smells good."

Okon raised an eyebrow at the man, before resuming her own meal. Omasu on the other hand, sniffed the air as well. The short-haired woman cocked her head to one side, trying to detect the scent. After a few moments, she shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid not." Plucking a piece of beef from her plate, the ninja woman turned to their guest.

"Do _you_ smell anything, Seta-san?" she inquired politely.

"Spplugthhh!"

At that sound, everyone automatically turned to Misao, who was currently occupied with choking violently on her drink. She began coughing and sputtering a lot, prompting Shiro, who was seated beside her, to thump the ninja girl's back firmly.

After that was over, Omasu turned back to Soujiro, expecting an answer. Smiling, the young man nodded slightly, indicating that he agreed with Kuro.

"Yes, I think I do smell something."

**.0o0.**

It was after dinner, and everyone else was inside, cleaning up, and preparing for sleep.

He was sitting outside, on the platform just outside the dining area. It was the same platform that he had laid Misao down on the last time he had been there, a whole two months ago. The wanderer let out a heavy sigh, tracing the wooden ruts with his hands.

_It wasn't too long ago…_

His blue eyes traveled to the darkening skies, and they twinkled.

"Hello, star," he murmured.

Today had been a nice, interesting day, and it felt good to be back in Kyoto. It seemed that all the events that had transpired—the journey towards the city, the brief conversation with Misao, the particularly amusing street fight, and the warm, filling dinner at the Aoiya—added to the effect that the capital city had on him.

The young man felt his doubts and worries slowly slip away; his questions about God, about life and about what he truly believed in, fade into the warmness of the evening. It was as if the great one in the sky was telling him to take it easy for a while; that not all the problems in life could be solved with the speed of the Tenken.

Soujiro watched, as, one by one, fireflies began to appear. They were very pretty, glowing amidst the darkness of the evening.

He needed time, he decided. And here in Kyoto, a city on the brink of modernization, there was plenty of it in the most unexpected of places. Where there was time, there was healing, and healing, wisdom.

_Maybe I didn't need to become a wanderer to gain wisdom,_ he thought. _Maybe, it was right in front of me from the beginning. _

In the background, music floated through the air. Someone was singing, and the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

_Sleep star, small one, _

_Bring the night with you_

_In another dream_

_The skies will smile_

_And rain falls from the moon_

_Journey to find your peace_

_Your everlasting peace_

_And smile, dear one, just smile_

_Heaven shines only for the true…_

The music played on, and the voice continued singing, but Soujiro wasn't listening anymore. Resting his head against a part of the sliding door, the exhausted wanderer finally closed his eyes after a long day of journeying, and slept.

**.0o0.**

Sho the servant began to walk back in the direction that he had come, holding up a small oil lamp to light his way. In the darkness, he smiled. What the old men had said was true.

The answers are always right in front of you. All you have to do is to look hard enough.

**.0o0.**

"**_The stage is set, and the lights are ready. Two have already joined the play, and the story has begun to unfold…"_**

**Notes:**

**Writing high? Yes. Permanent writing high? Sadly, no. :- I will soon edit the previous chapters, to correct what needs to be corrected. A few things on my part: no, I am not catholic, and yes, I really did think that the prices were inflated back then, as they are today. (scratches head) I guess I should have researched more…again…**

**That's all, folks! Reviews are greatly appreciated, and advice, even more. :-)**


	8. Summer is Dying

**The Hundred Item List**

**_Summer is Dying_**

By Leishe

Aoshi Shinomori was done meditating. A miracle.

Under normal conditions, the man would spend at least three hours sitting cross-legged on the floor of some temple, eyes closed, unmoving.

Some said he was praying, others said that he spent time there to think about things that he really didn't have time to think about in the real world. The most common speculation, however, was that Aoshi was still psycho, and spending time like that was the only way to cure him. 'Therapy', they called it.

On rare occasions, when the man would actually reply to the actual questions of actual people, he would say, "I am redeeming myself." And they wouldn't dare to ask any more, at the risk of their own lives.

Well, whatever he was really doing, today, he was done with it, and that was that. It was time for the journey home.

Aoshi grunted, as he walked out of the cozy wooden temple that was hidden beneath the massive rock shelves of a giant, snow-capped mountain, or in other words, a cave. He had been there for almost a month now, having left that _other_ temple at that _other_ village a week prior to his arrival.

The man squinted, his eyes narrowing even more, if possible. A clear canvas of sky-blue greeted him, with no clouds, and thankfully, no annoying snowstorm. Aoshi stepped out of the warm, sheltering cave, his boots made a crunching noise on the newly-fallen, crystal snow. He nodded in approval at the nice weather.

A light, frigid breeze blew, making his hair go into his eyes, as he heaved his pack of belongings onto his back, walking a few more steps forward, and preparing to climb down the way he came. Aoshi lowered himself into the ground and snow, feeling his left foot make contact with a rock crevice.

His mouth formed a faint smile; almost a smirk.

"Kyoto, here I come."

**.0o0.**

Morning at the Aoiya brought many surprises, and just as many violent reactions. It all started when the wretched sun flew into the sky, and when the unsuspecting residents sleeping therein started to wake up, yawning and stretching leisurely as they did. Misao, as always, liked to sleep in a little bit more, and of course, Okon would rouse her only after she and Omasu had prepared the breakfast.

"Aaaaahhh…good morning, world." Omasu stretched leisurely, as she blinked and rubbed at her eyes. It was morning, her favorite part of the day. Morning was unspoiled, fresh, and was ripe with new beginnings.

"Well…I guess it's time to cook the breakfast!"

She smiled cheerily in anticipation, mainly because one of the few joys in her life was to be able to cook, clean and look after her small family, otherwise known as a short-tempered, obsessive woman, a headstrong, hyperactive girl, a frivolous old man and two men who resembled apes.

"Breeeaaakfasst…breeeaaakfasst!"

Omasu sang softly as she packed her futon away and got dressed, carefully sliding open the door to her bedroom, and tiptoeing quietly into the hallway. She didn't want to wake anyone else, and besides, Okon was probably up already, in the kitchen. If there was anything the ninja woman admired her comrade for, it was her punctuality for preparing meals.

"Tum dee dum dum doo…"

She walked to the kitchen. It was a good thing that the restaurant didn't serve breakfast, because Omasu really, really HATED cooking for a large number of people at the start of the day. She didn't know why, but for some inexplicable reason, cooking meals in bulk drove the adrenaline into her veins faster that Okina could say "hyper", and that was pretty fast.

So there. Omasu walked into the kitchen, with a small, happy smile on her face.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Needless to say, that small, happy smile didn't stay for very long.

"What—what—what have you…" she sputtered, her eyes as big as satellite dishes. The woman was reduced to a stuttering, pointing dummy, and for some reason, she couldn't move.

"My—my kitchen…!"

In front of her, splattered all over the stove, the counter, and the dishrack, was an ENORMOUS mess of egg, flour, water, milk, bits of tuna, tea leaves, and rice. It covered almost the entire span of the cooking area, leaving nothing but one clean patch of floor in the middle, to stand on.

And it just so happened, that standing right there, in the middle of that one clean patch of floor, hair covered in flour, and holding up one wooden spoon covered in a mysterious brown goo, was none other than their beloved guest, Seta Soujiro.

"Good morning, Omasu-san," he greeted her, smiling that annoying smile of his.

Omasu just stood there, clutching her cheeks. She didn't know whether to cry or to laugh.

"S-seta-s-san…" her voice was high pitched, and on the verge of breaking. "…wha…what h-happened?"

Soujiro was not one for telling stories; he really wasn't, and it probably wouldn't help him much if he lied to the woman then and there. He didn't make the mess, that was for sure, but how exactly was he going to explain it properly to Omasu?

"W-well, you see…" here, he paused to rub the back of his head sheepishly, "I opened the doors to get some fresh air in…" he trailed off.

The ninja woman looked distraught. Yes, that was the word. Distraught. With a capital 'd', mind you.

"…and then?"

"And then," continued Soujiro, "a raccoon came in."

**.0o0.**

**9 o'clock in the morning, Shirobeko.**

Sae couldn't help but wonder why the entire population of the Aoiya Oniwabanshu had decided to go out and eat in another restaurant for breakfast, and on a Tuesday, of all days. Tuesdays were the 'golden days' for eating places in this particular area of Kyoto, and, all friendliness put aside, the Aoiya and the Shirobeko were, in fact, competitors.

'Well…' she thought, 'I guess something bad must have happened back there…and although maybe I AM supposed to be feeling bad for them, I guess it's a good thing for my business…'

The woman smiled wryly every once in a while, clutching the wooden tray closer to her bosom, watching the amusingly rowdy group eat their breakfasts. Life was very ordinary here in Kyoto, but people like them added a little more color to the usual palette.

"WHY YOU EVIL—THAT'S MINE!"

A few other customers turned their heads in shock, glancing furtively with wide eyes at the table nearing the end of the booths. Misao's voice. Not hard to miss, and even easier to recognize.

A man poked his friend in the shoulder. "Hey Yori, it's her again."

Okina was once again sparring with chopsticks for the last piece of fried dumpling on the platter, with Misao as his opponent. Their eyes flashed dangerously, as each skillfully maneuvered the eating utensils, fighting neck-in-neck over the food.

As of forty-eight seconds ago, the former master was in the lead.

"Give that back you dirty old man!"

"Heehee…she's mine now, weasel…all mine…"

Misao watched in horror as Okina swallowed the whole piece in one go, which was surprisingly fast for an old man such as himself. The young woman glared at him murderously, but being the fanciful ancient geezer that he was, Okina just ignored her.

She shook her fist at him, trying to be threatening.

"Just you wait, Jiya. I'll beat you at chopstick fights soon enough…"

He gave a short laugh. "That'll be the day, Misao…that will be the day."

Okon, on the other side of the table, just sighed and continued spooning the delicious rice and chicken porridge into her mouth, marveling at the flavorful combination of onion, garlic and ginger. These were pretty simple ingredients, but when put together properly, made a wonderful, yet efficient meal. The ninja woman, who had a slight, contented and momentary smile on her face, turned to the men seated beside her.

"Glug, glug, glug."

"Burp!"

Kuro was finished, and Shiro, on his fifty-eighth helping. Okon shook her head in disbelief at the plump man, wondering how much a normal human being could possibly eat, before exploding into tiny bits and pieces.

Omasu, meanwhile, was still recovering from the shock of seeing her precious kitchen in ruins. She didn't eat a bite, but she did drink sixteen cups of tea in less than five minutes; a record which not even the old man could surpass.

Her hands were shaking, and the expression on her face resembled that of a scared zombie's.

"K-kit…ki—ki---kitchen…" she muttered, her eyes wide and aghast, "m-m…my—my…ki…tchen…"

Okon shook her head again, spooning yet another mouthful of porridge from the bowl. She predicted a very, very tiring day today. A day, which was not necessarily beneficial to all, or perhaps, any of them.

**.0o0.**

He was scrubbing the floor when they returned, and doing a fairly good job of it, too. Seeing her baby so clean and neat and tidy, and with sparkles to boot, Omasu would have almost forgiven the young wanderer, if only it hadn't been for Misao's timely intervention.

"Tenken let that-that creature in, so he's gotta take the punishment! You can't just let him off like that, Omasu-chan…it just isn't fair." Her adamant voice rose into the air, and the woman had to admit…the weasel girl DID have a point.

The ninja woman let out a small sigh, twiddling her fingers. "But Misao-chan, just LOOK at him! All hardworking and apologetic like that…And the kitchen's wonderful, too!"

Shooting a nasty glare at Soujiro, which, thankfully, he didn't see, the young woman was absolutely sure that he had somehow bribed Omasu, or put on some fake pathetic puppy-dog face to get out of cleaning up. A dangerous glint passed through her eyes.

Well, Makimachi Misao was never one to be so easily tricked. Never. Especially not by some poor little guy who couldn't even kick out some stupid little animal, in turn disrupting breakfast. Why, she herself would've gotten the raccoon out, if only it weren't for her great fear of animals with claws and teeth that could tear your skin into tiny little pieces, grinding it so that the blood seeped out and-and-and…

…shame on him for ruining breakfast. SHAME.

Squatting down next to him as he wiped the already clean floor for the last time, Misao asked a question. It was more to satisfy her curiosity, somehow.

"Do you feel guilty for this, Tenken?"

"…"

He continued wiping, which gave her the wrong impression that he was pointedly ignoring her. She felt a sting of annoyance zap through, but decided to stretch her patience a little bit, and so, Misao waited.

Soujiro stopped wiping. He looked up, and smiled at her. Through those same blank blue eyes; with that same lifeless smile that seemed so easy to put on. Misao didn't say anything, looking with curiosity at the emptiness of it all.

She opened her mouth to speak.

"It must be so easy for you to smile…you do it all the time."

At her words, something—he didn't know what—broke inside him, a voice a, feeling, or perhaps, a fragment of the shell of what had once been his heart. He blinked, sensing a familiar rush of blinding pain scream into his body. Not physical pain, mind you, but the kind that tormented you…the kind that seeped out of the recesses of your soul…the kind that lasted forever.

Soujiro had been through it so many times, and he liked to believe that it didn't hurt him anymore.

"I find it hard to smile when I'm not happy," the young woman cocked her head to one side, "It's just…weird." _Why does he smile all the time? Is it because he's always happy? _ Somehow, she doubted that strongly.

But it did. It did hurt him. And besides, she would never really understand.

"…well?" Misao was looking at him now, with her wide, perceptive green eyes, and he felt them probe the insides of his mind. Soujiro quickly shook that feeling away, scrubbing at the floor a little more vigorously.

"Well what?" he asked, not realizing what she wanted.

The young woman rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation. For a moment, the wanderer wondered why she had the ability to break things inside him with mere words. _It must be a special ability_, he noted. She _has a way with her mouth._

"Well do you feel guilty, or not? For letting the raccoon in and ruining our breakfast?" Misao's voice was coated in impatience.

It wasn't his fault, actually. Raccoons were very, very crafty and agile little creatures—they swooshed into your home, your backyard or your garbage can when no one was looking. Stealthy little animals, they were. Always looking for food.

"…"

Soujiro didn't answer again, this time folding up the rag he had used to wipe the floor with, and standing up. The weasel girl stood up as well, hands on her hips. He could sense an outburst coming.

Guilt? What exactly did she mean?

"What exactly do you mean, Makimachi-san?"

"…" she glared at him irritably. Was it her imagination, or was Seta Soujiro, right hand man of the crafty leader of the Juppongatana, famed and feared assassin, and now, possibly, a fugitive of the law, really that stupid?

"Are you really that stupid, Tenken?"

He winced at that name. "Please," he said, raising a hand, "Call me Soujiro."

But Misao wasn't listening. "GUILT!" she said, voice rising, "Guilt! Do you feel bad because you wrecked Omasu's kitchen like the bloody little mass murde—" she chose to cut herself off, at his point.

"Do you feel bad because of what you've done?" she repeated, this time on a quieter note.

He didn't think she was talking about the raccoon anymore. The words struck deeper than they ever meant to, leading down, down, to the past that he wanted to outlive, to forget.

'Of course I feel bad,' he wanted to say, 'I feel bad about killing all those people, spilling all that blood. But I can't have emotion. I can't feel bad. It is weakness, and weakness means death. That's why I smile. That's why I have to smile.'

But he couldn't say it. And if he did, why now? Why to her, an old enemy of his dead master?

Soujiro looked at her, in that peculiar, empty manner of his. Misao shivered involuntarily. Why did he have that effect on her? The Tenken, regardless of what he had become now, was still, to her, ever so creepy.

'Nothing like Aoshi-sama,' she added, as a footnote.

"Makimachi-san," He began, "I don't think I feel bad, really—" at this, she bristled, "—but, maybe because…" he trailed off, "Maybe…because…I just don't feel anything at all."

Her green eyes widened.

"…what?"

This was a lie. It had to be. How could one be human, and yet, feel no emotion at all? It was just…unbelievable. Soujiro was honest, that she would admit…but…having no feelings? Nothing? Absolutely nothing?

He smiled at her. Again.

_Note to self_, Misao thought, _Item number fifty-seven: Must not be creepy emotionless wanderer who doesn't know what guilt is._

**.0o0.**

"Kanzaki Saburo!"

The middle-aged servant looked up at the mention of his name, which had come from the lips of one of the higher-ups; a servant manager. He stood, putting down his meal plate and walking over to the man, who was standing by the door of the servants' mess hall.

"Hai, Okane-sama?"

The man's face was grim. "Lord Akira would like to see you, Kanzaki." And, on a graver note, "He wants to talk to you regarding your activities in the forest, during your free time."

Kanzaki paled instantly. He knew where this was leading to; and the ending wasn't particularly wonderful, either. One thought echoed repeatedly in his head, neither the whispers of angels, nor the ordinary musings of an ordinary servant.

_They found me._ And from that moment on, he knew he would die, had it not been for one warm, strong, and reassuring voice that comforted him.

_Do not fear, for I am with you._

"Go," Okane ordered, prodding the man for good measure. "Lord Akira has guests to attend to."

And so, Kanzaki went.

**.0o0.**

In the lavish parlor, where the servant in question was supposed to be received was Lord Yoji Akira, son of the trading magnate Haruto Akira, and his wife the beautiful Lady Kiyoko, who, was at the moment, participating in some small talk with their guest, a childhood friend, and none other than Yasuda Takeshi.

Lord Akira was not at all enthralled at the idea of killing one of his best, most trusted and most reliable servants over the sake of differences in religion, but since Japanese law deemed all that was neither Buddhism nor Shinto taboo, especially the beliefs brought in by the foreigners, it wasn't like he had much choice.

"Ahahaha! Very clever indeed, Takeshi…I like the way you think!" the lilting voice of Kiyoko rose into the air, but Lord Akira paid no mind to it, instead focusing on the small, timid form of Kanzaki, who had just entered the room.

Akira rose, and Kanzaki bowed. The master's expression was grim and regretful, and the servant's, woeful and apprehensive.

"Saburo…" he began. Kiyoko and Takeshi ceased their chatter, and all was silent. Only one voice spoke, reverberating strongly in the servant's mind; the voice of his true master, his father, his brother his friend.

_I will never leave you._

He closed his eyes and exhaled, opening them again to meet with Akira's cold blue ones.

Everything was about to begin.

**.0o0.**

Mid afternoon. Under the eaves of a wide-branched tree, Soujiro sat. The air was getting colder, slightly, and he watched, as a single leaf flew from the tree, fluttering downwards, and settling to a stop on the surface of the crystalline river. It floated down, slowly, carried by the current of water.

"Sakura! Sakura!"

_Look at the cherry trees! Their hair is falling._

"Ai! Aoi. Wae-tah."

_Yes. Blue. Water_!

Voices. High-pitched, young, and breaking out into giggles and gales of laughter. They were talking to each other in another language. The wind, or perhaps, just an illusion?

He watched, silently as two little children played with each other on the other side, carefree and lively. They were not Komachi and Mamoru, but a younger set, about five or four. The little boy ran towards the water, splashing some with his hands, and his playmate joined him.

They stayed there for a while, screaming and laughing in delight. _What is it called?_ Soujiro thought absently, _Happiness?_

_I wouldn't know,_ he thought, somewhat pessimistically_, I don't feel anything._ But deep inside, he knew that they were there, those emotions. They just had to be awakened once more, by someone, or something.

_Perhaps…someone has to teach me to feel again?_

Leaves were rustling, but not from the breeze. The young man looked up, and he was right. Someone had climbed up the tree, and was now looking down at him from a high branch.

"Hey, Tenk—I mean, Soujiro," Misao called, her braid swinging slightly from the momentum of her jump into the tree, "Come on, it's almost dinnertime. Okon wants you to help with the restaurant."

He sensed a note of hostility in her voice, but chose not to mind it. What was there to mind, anyway?

"Come on," she repeated, not looking at him, but casting her eyes over the expanse of the clear river, her gaze alighting temporarily on the two children. The air was getting cooler. The seasons slowly, were shifting. In a softer voice;

"Let's go. Summer is dying."

As they walked, more than a meter apart on the wide dirt road leading back to the Aoiya, the young woman looked up, raising her face in the direction of the sun. The bright, flaming yellow felt like it was slowly vanishing, slowly giving in to the cold. A slight smile graced Misao's face.

A breeze passed behind them both, and if he listened hard enough, Soujiro could hear, in the wind, the whispers of Autumn.

**.0o0.**

**Note: Writing high. Wouldn't disappear. (sigh) I'm off to finish my requirements now. What you have just read is a horrible attempt at combining slight, slight, almost invisible shreds of angst with a bit of humor. Tell me what you guys think. :-D By the way, just read the SouMi oneshot, **Butterflies**. XD Fun. Very, very fun. Expect to hear from me soon. Thanks for the kind reviews! Really, really appreciated. Shall try to write more. Promise. ;-)**

**Leishe**

**P.S Hataoriweaver, weaving. Just in case you wanted to know. Coughcoughautumnwillowcough. ;-) Chapter 8 concludes the unofficial "part one". Heehee!**


	9. Deluge

**The Hundred Item List**

_**Deluge**_

By Leishe

Several onlookers stood in front of the small, empty apartment. They were watching curiously, as the two foreigners moved their things inside, box by box, with several black suitcases, also. The taller white man wore a black hat that reminded them of a turtle's shell, while the girl with flying yellow hair resembled a thin, pale lily. She had big blue eyes that made her look like an otter, and her face was sprinkled with freckles. The people watched as she held onto her own small suitcase. It was flat and white, like her teeth.

"Alice," grunted the man, "Do open the door, the men will put the lizards in."

She nodded and slid open the flimsy, thin shoji door to let the lizards in. They were massive, hulking beasts that were kept inside a glass tank that was much too small for their size. A pair of scaly, reptilian faces looked out expressionlessly at the wide-eyed crowd of Japanese people, and a forked tongue slid out, and in. the bunch of men who were carrying the tank, walked, slowly, to the left, balancing the lizards so that they could be put inside the apartment without too much trouble.

The pale girl looked up at the man with the turtle hat. "Father," she asked, "How long are we staying here?"

He wiped the side of his forehead with a white handkerchief, and then looked down at her with kind brown eyes. "Just a week, love. And you needn't be afraid of the lizards, they're quite harmless."

She nodded, eyes fixated on the tank, which was almost completely inside their new apartment. "…and that kind Mr. Zenjiro Yasuda let us stay here for free, too," the man added, to reassure her, "These people are nice, once you get used to them, Alice."

Nothing escaped her mouth, except the mechanical, "Yes, Father."

One of the sweaty men gestured towards the father, indicating that they were finished moving the creatures inside. The turtle-hatted man just nodded, and moved to get some money from his pocket, to pay them with. Alice waited, hands behind her back, not saying much. The sun here was hotter, but the weather was turning, she could see, towards the brown and orange autumn. Alice watched the lizards, afraid. She also watched the crowd slowly disappear, one by one, and the figure of her father talking in broken Nippongo to the men.

She hated Japan.

**.0o0.**

The whir of business surrounded the restaurant, that busy Monday afternoon. People were flowing in, most of them weary travelers, and the orders were coming down like heavy rain. Smells of cooking food rose into the air, warming the Aoiya from the inside. Kuro had put on the small oil lamps for added warmth, closing the entrance doors as well. Everyone inside was eager to eat, hungrily anticipating their meals as the food appeared on the wooden trays carried by the waiters and waitresses. Voices clamored comfortably into the air, creating an atmosphere of familiarity.

Outside, the cold began to grow quietly.

"Here, take this."

Misao took it, inspecting the folded piece of paper that a second ago had been in Okon's hand. She unfolded it, scanning what was written, and then looked back at the older woman with and incredulous expression—wide green eyes.

"You want _all_ of this?"

Okon nodded, getting back to collecting the meals that were lined up at the small kitchen counter. The ninja woman could see Omasu, ever hard at work, whipping up cooked food like a culinary thunderstorm. She smiled, brushing at her moist forehead. It really was getting too warm in there. Kuro'd overdone it a little bit. Misao tugged at her sleeve.

"I'm going to need help. I can't get everything back here all at the same time!"

"Misao—" Okon raised the tray decked with plates up, over her head, balancing it expertly on one open palm. She looked at her younger comrade with a slightly exasperated face. "Please, just do it…" At her tone of voice, the weasel girl immediately started feeling guilty for even attempting to complain about her duties, and nodded to Okon, her version of an apology.

"Got it, and sorry." She began walking away, to find Kuro or Shiro, or someone who could help her carry the needed groceries back to the restaurant quickly. Okon watched Misao's retreating figure for a minute, before whisking away to the dining area to deliver the orders. She shook her head at the unusualness of it all- that girl was making progress. Whether Misao realized it or not, there was something about her that was changing, slowly, in a natural, extraordinary way.

_It's only a matter of time_, Okon thought to herself, setting down a steaming plate, _until I am relieved of my boredom, and real things begin to happen_.

**.0o0.**

The second day was when the old man asked him to work. Soujiro hadn't really minded, figuring that the added exercise would be of some use to him, since walking too much couldn't be too helpful most of the time. Chores were fine, they weren't new to him, but in truth, he hadn't been able to do any chores since…since…well, since Shishio-san had taken him away from his family, a long time ago. Soujiro swallowed a light chuckle, despite himself. Family? He almost laughed at that. Shishio and Yumi and the Juppongatana were more of a family to him than his real one had ever been.

…but now they were all gone, and he was alone again.

_Something rustled. _

…or was he?

Soujiro gripped the handle of the sharp-edged tool firmly, raising it over his shoulder, and bringing it down in one smooth, quick stroke. The piece of log split cleanly in half even before it came in contact with the axe blade. The sound rippled lightly through the leaves, and the young man picked the two pieces up, bringing them over to the small pile of firewood that he had finished chopping.

He heard a step.

Clear eyes flashing, the young man looked up. Three words appeared. Girl. Braid. Emerald.

"Are you done with that?" The voice was pleasing and high-pitched, but it had a tone of hesitance to it. He met the young woman's questioning gaze.

"Almost," he replied, tossing the axe aside and crouching down to gather up the pieces of wood. Misao watched as he did so, with more than a hint of impatience. Soujiro stood up, arms laden with firewood, and turned to her.

"Okina-san sent you?"

She shook her head. She was standing, there, in the grass, legs evenly apart, braid hanging at her side. Her arms were folded, and Soujiro wondered, for a moment, why he noticed these things. "I need help with the groceries." Now, she was looking up at the sky. "Be at the shop beside the apothecary in half an hour." An order, but he knew he had to follow.

"Yes, Makimachi-san," he replied, looking at her with his meaningless smile. "Half an hour."

**.0o0.**

The machine was monstrous, and its appearance alone gave away its purpose. Lord Takeshi grinned, almost maniacally, as he surveyed his magnificent work of art. It was a large, elaborate torture device, designed specifically for executing a person in the slowest, most grueling way possible; the young man had tried his very best to make whoever was trapped inside suffer for the longest amount of time, before he was killed by the slowly swinging blade that hung from the right corner.

Takeshi tapped his fingers together methodically, his teeth gleaming in the daylight. Oh, what a beautiful killing machine it was! Not only was he the rich, young heir to one of the richest families in Japan, but he was also a brilliant inventor.

"Ah, Kiyoko," he murmured under his breath, smiling dangerously, "the things you make me do…"

"Excuse me, master."

A voice snapped him out of his reverie, and on instinct, Takeshi looked up and prepared to throw whoever had spoken, into his machine then and there. He saw, however, a familiar face appear in the courtyard, and immediately, the young man's anger dissipated. He smiled, although the smile was not so real, and walked towards Sho, who was bowing down awkwardly, as was the custom.

"Sho, my friend!" He was in a good mood now, expecting the news from the capital, "Anything from Kyoto?"

The servant just smiled, nodding his head in affirmation.

"Excellent! Now tell me, have you found the man I've been looking for?" there was excitement; a dangerous kind, Sho knew, but he was willing to take his chances. He bowed again.

"Yes, master," he hesitated, but then overcame it. "His name is Seta Soujiro."

**.0o0.**

The man with the turtle-hat nodded, and tried to talk to the group of sweaty men once more. He pointed to the large glass tank containing the two massive lizards, and pointed to the outside, then to the sun, then to the people. Alice just listened, silent as always, from the other side of the thin sliding door, while she unpacked her things from the white suitcase. She and her father would only be staying for a few days in this horrid little country, with the terrifying lizards that he had brought with him from Indonesia. 'Dragons', her father called them, "They are Komodo Dragons."

He was babbling, but they couldn't understand. They never would, unless there was some translator that helped her father, a scientist. He had brought his precious specimens to Japan, because he wanted to show them to the people there; to let them see these magnificent creatures from an exotic island, and talk about it. "It's sort of missionary work for science, my dear," he had told her once before, when Alice had asked him why.

"Yes, yes," he was saying now, taking off his hat and wiping the middle of his bald head with a handkerchief, "Out. To-mo-row. Haaaiii?" the men nodded, seeming to understand what he was trying to say this time. He then turned to his daughter, and smiled at her slightly. She could see he was tired of many things. Alice rose to close the top of her suitcase.

"Come, dear. Let's get something to eat."

**.0o0.**

Shiro was there to get the firewood when Soujiro had brought it in. The big man nodded to him, taking the wood in his burly arms, and carrying it out back. The young man could hear the busy, quick cooking sounds of a ladle scraping the bottom of a pot, and Omasu's voice calling out orders from the kitchen. There were footsteps, and then Okon appeared, all of a sudden, at the doorway.

"Seta-san," she said, seemingly stressed-out, "Have you seen Misao? I sent her to get some supplies from the grocery ten minutes ago."

Soujiro nodded. "Makimachi-san's on her way there now. Well, she was, when I last saw her."

Okon sniffed, nodding also. She smoothed her outfit, and prepared to go back inside. "Well, that's good. Tell her she's on dishwashing duty tonight, okay?" she paused, as if to think, "…and Okina said you're going to wash the laundry later…is that right?"

Soujiro blinked. Laundry? The old man hadn't said anything about laundry. He smiled, unsure. "Ah, he didn't, Okon-san. Am I to do it?" if there was a note of hesitation in his voice, no one noticed. The woman looked at him amusedly. There was a tiny glint in her eyes. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble…the whale and I have a bit too much work on our hands right now, as you can see."

He didn't understand what she meant. "Whale?"

Okon smiled. "Omasu."

"I heard that you ostrich!" came the voice from the kitchen. Okon broke out into soft chuckles. She winked at the young man, and reentered the restaurant, closing the door behind her.

"Er…okay."

He walked a little way from there, and then remembered that Misao had ordered him to help her out with the groceries. Soujiro, a smile on his face, turned on his heel, going in the other direction, to the part of town where the grocery was. _Apothecary,_ he thought.

**.0o0.**

Misao was waiting for him, her arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently. She didn't enjoy waiting, or being bored for that matter. The young woman cast a careless glance at her feet, where ten bags of groceries were lined up neatly. The ninja girl had taken it upon herself to arrange them like that, for lack of anything better to do. Sighing, Misao took to observing the scenery.

"Aoshi-sama," she mumbled, chin in her palm, looking up at the dark-green leaves that lay patterned against the sky, "You're really late…"

A small animal scurried into the bushes, and the young woman bent over to scratch her leg, when she felt a mild, blunt object poke her waist. "Er." A brow rose, and she got up, wondering what was stuffed into her sash. Reaching in, her versatile fingers encircled the form of a small scroll, and pulled it out in one jerking motion.

"Oh…" she murmured, "…this…"

The list. Misao opened it out of habit, and watched as the paper unrolled, and fluttered to the ground, together with the other end of the scroll. For a few moments, her gaze darted to and fro, down the list, rereading what she had written some ten years ago.

"_Anou," a clear, high voice said, smiling, "I want him to make mochi for me every single dinnertime!"_

_Amused laughter and fond faces smiled back at her, chuckling good-naturedly. Gently, two hands reached out to carry the small girl up, swinging her into the air lightly, before setting her back down again onto the floor._

"_Are you sure, Misao?" A young woman's voice asked, lilting and feminine, "You might get sick of mochi every day!"_

"_No!" the small girl declared, wiping her ink-smeared hands on her yukata, "I won't ever! Not as long as he cooks it for me!"_

"_**Misao!**" shrieks of alarm emanated from the two young women, whose eyes widened at the sight of her stained clothing. _

"_What?" asked the child, looking at them all in puzzlement, "There's nothing wrong with my yukata…it's not broken…"_

"_Come on, Misao…" sighed Okon, lifting her up, "Time for a bath…" she turned to the other ninja. "Omasu, can you please put the scroll and her ink set away? This small one needs some appropriate discipline…"_

"_NOOOO!" She screamed, kicking wildly, "I don't wanna take a baaath!"_

_And, in the background, Okina would smile and tap his cane, whilst leering slightly at Omasu, who shot the old man venomous glare as she passed. "You know," he told himself, sniffing and stoking his moustache, "If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that little Misao there would make an excellent ninja someday."_

_And then, he laughed._

Footsteps, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were still trained on the smudged, messy writing of her childhood, fogged up slightly to indicate that she was still lost in memories. The sound of two feet walking on the ground towards the grocery failed to snap her out of her blank trance.

Soujiro bent over to pick up three of the bags at the same time, finding them quite easy for him to carry. Supplies in his arms, the young man cast a discreet, sidelong glance at Misao, who seemed to be reading something intently. He stepped over to where she was and peered over her shoulder.

…1. tall, 2. dark, 3. handsome, 4. (must be leader of the oniwabanshuu), 5. must know how to make paper balloons…

Before Soujiro could get a good look at the rest of it, the scroll was quickly rolled back into place and tucked into the side of a lavender sash, while two very irritated green eyes looked at him accusingly. Misao didn't like it. There was something about his aura that made her slightly uncomfortable—maybe it was his closeness, or maybe it was something else.

"What is it, Makimachi-san?" Was he asking about the list, or about her reaction? Or both?

The young woman sniffed indifferently. "Mind your own business, Seta," she retorted. "Just make yourself useful and bring those"-she jerked her head towards the bags-"back to the Aoiya."

He smiled, but persisted. It was one of his more…testing traits, Misao observed. "What were you reading, earlier, Makimachi-san?" Soujiro asked, bending down to pick up yet another bag. The weasel girl marveled at his ability to carry many things at the same time. She folded her arms and tried to glare him to pieces.

"No." One syllable, laced with poison.

Soujiro didn't take the hint. Or maybe he did, but then chose not to show it. For some reason, the young man enjoyed talking to this hot-tempered ninja girl, even when she just ignored him and complained most of the time. The grin on his mouth widened.

Misao rolled her eyes, tucking the list further into her sash, and picking up two bags from the floor. She shot the freeloader a look, telling him to get on with it because if he didn't there, would be dire consequences. The young man merely obeyed, letting her irritation wash over him-and enjoying the feeling.

As they walked back together, the young woman couldn't help but glance at Soujiro from time to time. And when he returned her glances, Misao would look away uncomfortably. She didn't enjoy the feeling…it made her uneasy, yet there was something _awfully _natural about it.

"Makimachi-san?"

"What."

"Did Omasu-san really ask for all this food?"

"…what do you think?"

"…nevermind."

There was no sound but those of their footsteps, with Soujiro's a little more muffled than Misao's. The occasional crinkling of the paper bags in resounded, as each held the groceries to themselves. The smell of unripe berries mingling with old bird's nests and leaves ready to fall on the ground filled the soft, slowly changing air.

The Aoiya appeared, in the distance, when Misao stopped abruptly. Soujiro looked at her, a question ready to spring from his lips. Unfortunately, she asked him first.

"Soujiro?" she said, staring off into space.

"Yes?"

"When do you think Aoshi-sama's going to come back?"

"…"

He noticed the light, almost wistful quality of her voice.

…and Shinomori-san? To be honest, the whereabouts of that man hadn't even touched his consciousness during his two years of traveling. The last time he had seen the stoic, trench-coat clad swordsman was during the downfall of Shishio, and that probably wasn't the answer that the weasel girl was looking for. Soujiro really couldn't say much.

"Well?"

"I…don't know, Makimachi-san." He answered, somewhat apologetically.

Misao raised a brow, and shot him an irritated look. "Don't call me that," she said, beginning to resume her walking, "It makes me sound old."

The wanderer smiled as usual, and kept pace with her. "Okay," he tried it out, "…Misao-san."

A small smile crept up her lips, and without warning, she whirled around to face him, with her braid twirling after. A startled Soujiro blinked, meeting her gaze. Those green eyes, he swore, were laughing at him.

"That's better," she declared. "You know Soujiro; you might actually be of some use one day."

He grinned in return.

"Why thank you."

A slightly chilly wind blew past them both, as the wanderer and the weasel girl walked towards the warm, welcoming doors of the Aoiya, with the young man carrying six bags of groceries, and the young woman, four. It was the pinnacle of change that day, with summer on the brink of giving in to the slow, cold pace of autumn, and also a lonely stranger, giving into the subtle, welcoming strands of acceptance.

**.0o0.**

**Hoa…I don't think I pulled the Sou-Mi interaction off that nicely. (sigh) Oh well. :P thank you for all your comments. I really, really, really, really, enjoy reading them, and they help me out more than you know. :) So! 'Till next chapter! Ohohohohohoho!**

**Leishe**


	10. Thunder Dragons

**The Hundred Item List**

_**Thunder Dragons**_

By Leishe

Aoshi stopped by to admire the stone statuettes and sculptures that were positioned outside the modest, low-roofed cottage which hung onto the edge of a sagging cliff by the side of the road. He looked closely at the smooth, marbled face of a shepherd carved out in stone. Expert craftsmanship, it was, but with the simple, fine-tuned quality of a humble outdoorsman. The man smirked a little, his gaze dropping on the small white flowers that were suspended from the edge of the roof.

"Hello sir."

A voice. Light, melodious, one that reminded him of…butterflies. Aoshi turned around to face the speaker, with no intention of returning the greeting. An eyebrow arched, the man fixated his eyes on her face, and grunted his usual pleasantry.

"Hn."

The woman smiled cheerfully. A little bit _too _cheerfully. She looked the newcomer from top to bottom, taking him in with wide, bright eyes. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, the former okashira began to feel stiffly uncomfortable. Her arm swung up towards the cottage in one graceful motion. The wind seemed to agree. With one mighty breath it suddenly tunneled towards her, blowing her skirt up. The woman let out a small shriek and attempted to flatten her dress. Aoshi stared blankly with his trademark indifference.

"W-would you like to come and have a look at my brother's wares?"

Aoshi's stone-cold glare flitted from her lightly tanned face, framed by locks of wavy, black hair, to the array of stationary figures, chiseled out from rock, standing in front of the cottage somewhat expectantly. He was about to hesitate, about to leave and be on his way towards the capital city…towards home and breakfasts and old friends…

"…Aa." Much to his surprise and chagrin, the man felt himself nod once, stiffly, and enter.

Perhaps, one side trip wouldn't hurt.

The young woman's smile softened, and her brown eyes lit up. She followed behind him with soft, thudding footsteps and fingers at her back, entwined in each other. It was dark beyond the door. Everything was distinctly wooden and herbal. Inside, he bent down awkwardly, as not to bump his head on the low ceiling. There was a small stone pig inside that happened to catch his attention.

Aoshi sensed her come up behind him. He scrutinized the small stone pig some more, with a somewhat disapproving look. The young woman bent over him, her long locks barely brushing against the rough, worn-out collar of his leather trenchcoat. He felt her smile at him.

"My name is Ayasi." She said.

This time, he responded deliberately.

"Shinomori Aoshi."

And then they met eyes.

Outside, a single snowflake drifted lightly through the air, and landed on the brown, dry leaves. Horse's hooves sounded in the distance, as mist shrouded the mountains beyond.

**.0o0.**

Misao woke up. She was breathing rapidly, deeply, and for some reason, even if it was cold outside, she was sweating all over. Blinking, the world slowly came into focus around her, and the young woman let out a sigh, rubbing her moist arms. Her breath was shaky, and it was clear that something had unsettled her.

"Misao? Misaoooo-chaann…"

The loud albeit muffled voice of Omasu came from behind the rice paper doors of her room. Outside, Misao could hear the sounds of breakfast cooking, while other voices talked to each other quietly. Her eyes darted to the wooden frames. Two knocks sounded.

"Misao?"

She let herself down on the futon once again, shivering a little. Her feet dug into the warmth of the soft cloth blankets, and the young woman closed her eyes halfway, letting her sight blur once more. During her return to the subconscious, Aoshi-sama's face appeared again, and this time, there was no pretty girl laughing beside him. This time, he was looking down at her with his cool, flashing eyes that held dark emotion. This time, all was well.

Misao's damp lips parted, her hand lay beside her head, partly curled into a fist. A deep, relaxed breath shuddered out of her body, and her eyelids settled down comfortably.

**.0o0.**

The sun was not hot that day, because it was covered by clouds. Despite the obvious oncoming of the colder, latter months of the year, a curious humidity hung in the air, making everything that was cold sticky, and what was crumbly, moist. The market was as it always was. Milling with crowds of people, haggling, buying, glancing curiously up at the scowling sky, and smelling like day-old produce. It was all very familiar.

"They're gone."

Nibori Mamoru shuffled up behind his sister, who was standing in front of the new lottery that had been established just a few days ago. The little boy peeked at her face. Komachi was wearing a forlorn expression, similar to the one when Taro had taken away her favorite doll. Mamoru's eyes traveled to the lottery itself. It was a clean place, clearly with a bit of western influence. The lottery was not unfamiliar to children such as they, but it was clear that that was not what Komachi was sniffling about.

"Who?" he asked.

"Aburakoji-ojisan and family."

Mamoru paused to scratch an itch that was coming on quite nicely at the back of his head. After a minute of this, he answered.

"You mean Hiroko-san? _Those _Aburakojis?"

Komachi nodded, burying a sniffle under an ill-executed cough. The young boy glanced down at the little girl, and there was bit of pride in his eyes. Maybe she would not be such a helpless weak woman after all. He looked up, and noticed that the sky was clouding again. Mamoru let out a sigh inside himself. Clouding skies. So troublesome. Gently he put his hand on Komachi's shoulder, pushing her forward.

"Come on. Kaasan needs us to help with fixing dinner."

Sullenly, the girl nodded, turning around to walk back to the house with her brother beside her. Their footsteps grew fainter with each passing step, and the wind grew colder behind them. The old trees rustled, grumbling ill-naturedly amongst themselves. The coming of Autumn was old news already. They were practically in the middle of it. Dry leaves fell from the highest branches, landing softly on the hardened dirt surface, in front of what used to be the Aburakoji sword shop.

A raven flew up to a tree and began watching. Mamoru let himself look back, but only for a few moments. He sighed and quickened his pace. And then he let himself vanish.

**.0o0.**

"Aaaaaaa, aaaaa!"

"Shh, shhh, come down my love...come on, you can do it…come down now…"

Hiroko was sure that she looked ridiculous, coaxing a child from a tree. But he was there, sitting on the lowest branch, yet out of her reach, like a little monkey. Her young son clung onto the trunk with his chubby little hands, and his mouth wide open. The complete set of white, pearly teeth were glinting in the afternoon sun, and his screaming filled the air. The woman sighed in frustration, ready to claw at something. Her brows knotted together, and at the same time, her dear old father strutted out of their new house.

"Ichiro!" he snapped, rubbing his back irritably, "Get down at once, you rotten little maggot!"

Hiroko's brows rose in indignant alarm, and her mouth opened to retort sharply. And then a small cry sounded from the branch above her, and the next thing she knew, the young boy was in her arms, grapping at the comb which bound her hair together tightly. Ichiro's mouth was quivering with sobs, and there were tearstains on his fat round cheeks.

Shinichi came hobbling to them, grumbling. The woman narrowed her eyes at her father, but did not say anything. The Aburakoji patriarch regarded her with rolling eyes. They both looked at the wailing boy, and for a moment, eyes softened and guards were let down.

"Sometimes that brat needs a break from all your sweet spoiling. A hard shove on the swing, my father once said. Ichiro has to be a man!" the old man declared.

Hiroko stroked her son's back. "A man he may have to be, but not yet. Not yet…" she muttered.

**.0o0.**

Soujiro noticed it that day. The way things seemed to move in invisible deliberation, as if strings were attached to whatever movement happened. He watched, pondering silently, the graceful, patterned motions of Okon as she nibbled on her breakfast, periodically reaching for her cup to take a short drink. Her hair brushed against her eyes, and she swiped at it. Omasu was walking, back and forth, back and forth. Rearranging the dishes, putting some more, and taking some away.

Okina was finished and had gone to the temple to meditate. He took the shogi board with him, and also, Soujiro's promise to play later that afternoon. But then the rurouni doubted that he would be able to keep it. Kuro was still there, eating his breakfast with thin, jerky movements, with his long arms moving here and then there, and his jaw chewing on the rice and fish. Shiro was washing dishes, because Omasu had told him so. And Misao wasn't there yet…

"Pass the fish Seta-san. Please."

Soujiro put the cup to his mouth. He drank the cold, clean water and replaced the cup on the table, putting his chopsticks to one side. Omasu took them, and Soujiro thought about how boring and routine everything seemed to be. His blue eyes scanned the room and saw nothing but wood and people. A hand suddenly flew to his side, searching for something that wasn't there.

_It's a reversed one now_, someone said, _and you aren't a killer anymore_. A feeling of shame rushed through him, and the sudden desire for his old weapon and his old title dissipated. But not completely. Mentally, he cursed, wishing for the maddening equilibrium of that morning to go away and never return…

Footsteps thudded, and then she appeared in the dining room. Wearing the usual yukata, with a slight trace of rings around her eyes, and a bit of dryness at her mouth. Soujiro studied her for a moment, and then she began to walk to the table.

Thud, drag. Thud, drag._ Another pattern,_ Soujiro thought irritably.

Misao reached for a pair of chopsticks and went out of her way to glare him good morning.

"Good morning Maki-uh-Misao-ch—er, san."

"Hn," she grumbled, reaching to push her bangs from her face. Yawning, the young woman got a rice bowl from the other side of the table.

He tried to get ahold of the teapot and their hands brushed against each other unexpectedly. A panicked look from her green eyes, and she drew her hand back sharply. Okon and Omasu and Kuro looked up with surprise, noting the sudden movement.

"What's wrong, Misao?"

And he, Soujiro, merely poured some tea into his half-empty cup while bearing the glares the girl beside him was sending. Misao grabbed at her chopsticks savagely, and began wolfing down her meal, muttering "ninja missions" in between bites. Soujiro kept drinking, and a smile made its way inside of him.

Gone were the sleepy repetions and the horrible, rhythmic patterns. The thick blanket of silence that enveloped them all during breakfast was banished with a single gesture from Misao. Blue eyes took her in critically, wondering why she was the only one that could summon this storm of uncertainty…of imperfection.

Of color.

Soujiro stood up and thanked Omasu and Okon for the meal, like he always did. And then he disappeared out the dining room, to take a walk around the nearby streets. Misao eyed him grumpily, still eating her food.

_His skin is abnormal,_ the young woman thought. _Why is it that whenever I touch him, mine tingles?_

**.0o0.**

Two running feet whirled past Soujiro as he strolled down the sparsely populated streets. He turned around to catch a glimpse of a pair of children vanishing behind a corner of fruit stalls. On a whim, the young man changed directions, following them. Instinct told him that it would lead to something interesting. Soujiro rounded the corner soon enough, and voices reached his ears.

"They're huge."

"Monsters, Sayuri-san. Only the foreigners can touch them."

"Oh!"

"Hmph. I saw one of those when I was younger…I think it was sixty or seventy years ago…"

"Agh, cut it old man. Your stories are boring."

"Watch your mouth you little maggot! May that beast bite your head of someday."

"Tch."

A crowd of people were gathered in front of one of the apartments in the residential area of Kyoto. The door to the apartment was half open, and two men were standing on either side, watching something in front of them with hawk's glares. A fat man in front of Soujiro turned to him, all of a sudden. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the men.

"D'you know what they're so riled up about, young man?" he asked. Soujiro shook his head. He couldn't see past the numerous heads that were clouding over the object of interest. The fat man nodded. "Lizards," he said, lisping a little. "The foreign man is called Mr. Yates. He owns the creatures."

He didn't do well in masking his interest. "…lizards?"

The fat man nodded, but he had no chin, so… "Yes. Yates-san calls them Komodo. They're from Indonesia."

Komodo. Indonesia…?

These words were unusual to Soujiro's ears. He nodded and the crowd grew even larger as another group of people joined the throng. A group of gaunt, solemn-looking men appeared behind Soujiro and the fat man. They seemed to have keen interest in seeing the lizards, judging from their excited, whispered tones. But their eyes betrayed their true motives.

One of the men tapped the fat man on his shoulder.

"Excuse me…are those really dragons?"

The fat man looked pleased at another chance to explain. "Yes. They are owned by a man named Mr. Ya—"

Suddenly, Soujiro smiled. It was the chilly, empty smile again, and one of the newly-arrived men shot a furtive glance at the other. The young wanderer did not miss this action of his; he was two steps ahead of them, as usual. Soujiro turned to the fat man, bowing a little. "I'm afraid I must go now, Mr—"

"Kanzaki."

Soujiro started. He looked up with surprise. "K-kanzaki?" It was a common name around here, but still…

"Yes." The fat man smiled. "I'm a teacher here. I trust you know the Nibori siblings, Mamoru and Kodachi? They told me a great deal about you…"

A flash of running feet and laughing children appeared in his head. Soujiro remembered them, but that was not the point. So…this Kanzaki knew him. How much had the children told? But then he was a teacher, so he had to be a trustworthy man…

"Kanzaki?" one of the men behind them asked. The teacher smiled and nodded. "Hai." The man returned his smile.

"Do you, by any chance, have a brother in the north?"

The question caught him off-guard. "W-why, yes." The fat man answered. "Yes. Saburo Kanzaki…" He paused, "I haven't heard from him in a long while. Do you—" he began, "—do you know him?"

The man smiled again, in a manner which made Soujiro narrow his eyes and rest a hand inconspicuously on the handle of his sword. _He _knew Saburo Kanzaki, and consequently, remembered him quite well. The servant in the forest. The Christian in the forest. That man's faith was so strong that it made Soujiro question his own…

"We're friends of Saburo-kun." The man said. "He…is a worker with a most interesting way of life…"

Soujiro froze and then masked it easily. And inside, his mind was screaming. They found out. They found out about Kanzaki. And now they were going to kill him. His first instinct was to leave for the Yasuda compound right away. It would take him three days…less if he traveled quickly. He would need supplies and money for the trip…

He thought of the Aoiya. And then he thought of Misao.

**.0o0.**

The list was tucked in the side of her sash, like it always was, and this time, she was lying down by the river again, except on the other side, where there was a small green meadow. The dragonflies were hovering above, gliding with the weak breeze, like the lazy creatures that they were. Misao's eyes were closed, and on her face were peace and sleep, and rest.

Omasu hurried up the grass, trying to be as fast and quiet as she could. Being a ninja, it was a piece of cake, and besides, Misao the thick-skulled ninja girl was the soundest sleeper in the entire city of Kyoto. The woman smiled faintly as she crept up on the napping girl. Her eyes crinkled in mischief, as they spotted the small, tightly wound scroll protruding out of the deep blue sash that was tied around her waist.

"Hee…" said Omasu, gently picking the list from Misao's side. This was easy. Almost _too _easy. With a giggle of satisfaction bubbling inside her, the woman tucked the list into her own sash, and sashayed down to the dirt path not far from the meadow, smiling.

"Misao…now is your time to be recognized as Kyoto's number one bachelorette!"

**.0o0.**

When Misao woke up, it was late afternoon. She yawned, rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, and then hopped up to take a lazy stroll around the parts of the city that she was more familiar with. The young woman rubbed at her backside absently, and took a quick glance at the clouds that were covering the faint glowing yellow-ness of the sun. Misao sighed and kept walking.

**.0o0.**

Soujiro was walking at a brisk pace, through the milling people, and through the various stalls and booths and wagons full of fruits and flowers and stuff. His breath came in a little quicker than normal, and his hand seemed to linger on the hilt of his sword from time to time.

Kanzaki. Dead. Dead. Dead.

It was all in his mind, in his brain, swimming. Why did they find out? _How? _The old servant wasn't the most careful person in the world, and Soujiro had met him only once. What, really, was his obligation to this stranger in the forest? They had exchanged words and names, but little else. Who cared if the man died? Christianity was taboo here. Everyone knew that.

"Excuse me…" a man pushed past, and Soujiro glanced sharply at his face. He was one of the bystanders who were there to see the lizards. The one who had talked about Kanzaki… Blue eyes narrowed. Soujiro did not like the look of the man's face nor the sound of his voice. There was something going on, and whatever happened, the wanderer swore himself that he would not fall into a trap…

Two small bodies rammed into his legs, and Soujiro stumbled.

"Er…sorry, mister…" A boy got up, holding his head, and his sister shook her hair back into place. Her eyes widened at the sight of Soujiro, and then he realized that he recognized both of the children.

"…ma…moru, isn't it?"

The boy bowed, eyes on his sword. "Seta-san!"

Soujiro nodded briefly, and smiled at them. He didn't have time for this. The siblings walked past without another word, and so the young man made his way towards the Aoiya. The crowds were getting thicker, he noted, and the people were flowing in the opposite direction, towards the Komodo dragons. He raised his eyes to the cloudy sky.

Another body crushed against his, and the wanderer started in surprise.

"Get off, baka!"

He blinked. He knew that voice.

"Misao-san?"

Gripping her shoulders, he looked at her, and she stared at him with startled green eyes. She blinked as well, before glaring at him and wrenching away from his grasp. Her braid swung behind her, against her back, and the crowd pushed savagely, forcing her to stumble into him in one awkward jerk. Misao nevertheless retained her defiant gaze.

"Soujiro. What're you doing here….why?"

He flashed another of his smiles, "Don't give me that, idiot!" Misao snapped. "Okon's been wondering where you w—"

In a gesture quite uncalled for, the young man suddenly stopped smiling, and caught the girl's hand, pulling her into a quick hug. Misao's eyes widened and she looked up at him with a bewildered expression. She didn't know how to pull away, and no words seemed to be able to come out of her mouth…

"S-Sou…"

Soujiro looked at her with warmth in his usually expressionless blue eyes. Misao felt her breath hitch, and realized immediately that she was _not _used to seeing him like this. He took her hand and whispered something in her ear,

"Goodbye."

And he disappeared into the crowd.

It had happened too fast. She tried to comprehend, forcing her mind to keep up with what had spun past too quickly. Misao turned back wildly, searching for him amongst the rush of nameless faces. The wanderer was nowhere to be seen, and the people walked forth, catching her in their wake. Nevertheless, she shouted, calling for someone who wasn't there anymore.

"SOU!" She shouted, "Where are you going!" Her eyes were pleading, now, searching.

And as expected, no one answered her.

**.0o0.**

"There he is."

"Watch him, boys. No good to displease Takeshi on our first mission."

"Tch. Don't be so hot over it, Bunkei. He's just a kid."

"Yeah."

"A crazy kid. And filthy rich."

"Crazy isn't even half of it. The guy's a madman."

"Hey, look! Where'd he go?"

"Who?"

"Seta!"

"What do you mean where'd he go? He's right there."

"Where?"

"…there. By the rock."

"…no he isn't."

"But he was there a moment ago!"

"…"

"You think it's true, then?"

"…what?"

"That Seta's a god?"

"I dunno, but if he really does have the speed that they say he possesses, then Takeshi's gonna have a hell of a fun time, won't he?"

"Whatever you say, Bunkei. You're the leader, after all…"

The men looked at each other uncertainly, and then at the winding roads ahead of them, which pierced into the mountainside. They were tired, dirty, and very, very alert. The journey from the Yasuda compound had spent them, but after catching sight of the prey that their master had valued so, adrenaline began to flow in their veins.

The man named Bunkei shoved a stick into the ground, and nodded at the group. He was not going to fail Lord Takeshi.

"Come on, men. He couldn't have gone far."

**.0o0.**

Notes.

Hi. Late update? Yes. Reason? School. Why? School. Long-ish chapter this time around, and I really hope to work on the next one a bit faster. :-) As always, thank you, readers, for the encouraging responses! You guys know how to keep an author writing. :-) SouMi is vaguely vague at this stage, but I shall see what I can do.

Comments and stuff are very much appreciated. Ciao!

Leishe


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